






Class s^y 3. 

Book L-i — 

Copyright]^" . . 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 

















THE LAWYER-DETECTIVE; 


OK, 

TWENTY-TWO 

V 

Celebrated Criminal Cases Unraveled. 


BY 

SAMUEL WARREN, 

I* w 

AUTHOK or “ten THOUSAND A TEAK,'* “THE DIABY OF A PHYSICIAN,” 
ETC.. ETC. 



CHICAGO! 

ALEX. T. LO YD & CO. 
1S8L 


TZ3 ' 

yf 2. ^s’L 


CoPYRieHT 1880 , 

BT 

ESTES & LAURIAI. 


COPYKiaHT 1881, 

BT 

ALEX. T. LOYD & CO. 


r J L ! 


CONTENTS, 


PAOB 

0 THE MARCH ASSIZE 5 

THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT 24 

THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE 39 

1 THE MOTHER AND SON 58 

'R « the writ of HABEAS CORPUS ** . . . . 74 

ESTHER MASON . , 90 

THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT 107 

THE SECOND MARRIAGE 127 

f CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 147 

“THE ACCOMMODATION BILL” .... 168 

THE REFUGEE 184 

THE LIFE POLICY 205 

BIGAMY OR NO BIGAMY 220 

JANE ECCLES 237 

“EVERY MAN HIS OWN LAWYER” . . . .255 

THE CHEST OF DRAWERS 270 

THE PUZZLE .291 

THE ONE BLACK SPOT 309 

THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR 325 

A FASHIONABLE FORGER 339 

THE YOUNG ADVOCATE 353 

A MURDER IN THE TIME OF THE CRUSADES . 368 
















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THE MARCH ASSIZE. 

Something more than half a century ago, a person, in going 
along Holhorn, might have seen, near the corner of one of the 
thoroughfares which diverge towards Russell Square, the re- 
opectable-looking shop of a glover and haberdasher named 
James Harvey, a man generally esteemed by his neighbors, and 
who was usually considered well to do in the world Like man\ 
London tradesmen, Harvey was originally from the country 
He had come up to town when a poor lad, to push his fortune, 
and by dint of steadiness and civility, and a small property lefl 
him by a distant relation, he had been able to get into business- 
on his own account, and to attain that most important element 
of success in London — “ a connection.” Shortly after setting 
up in the world, he married a young woman from his native 
town, to whom he had been engaged ever since his school-days , 
and at the time our narrative commences he was the father ol 
three children ^ 

James Harvey’s establishment was one of the best fi-cquented 
of its class in the street. You could never pass without seeing 
customers going in or out. There was evidently not a little 
business going forward. But although, to all appearance, a 
flourishing concern, the proprietor of the establishment was 
surprised to find that he was continually pinched in his circum- 


6 


THE MARCH ASSIZE. 


.itances. No matter what was the amount of business transacted 
over the counter, ho never got any richer. 

At the period referred to, shop-keeping had not attained that 
degree of organization, with respect to counter-men and cashiers, 
which now distinguishes the great houses of trade. The primi- 
tive till was not yet superseded. This was the weak point in 
Harvey’s arrangements , and not to make a needless number of 
words about it, the poor man was regularly robbed by a shop- 
man, whose dexterity in pitching a guinea into the drawer, so 
as to make it jump, unseen, with a jerk into his nand, was 
worthy of Herr Dobler, or any other master of the suDiime art 
of jugglery. 

Grood-natured and unsuspicious, perhaps also not sufficiently 
vigilant, Harvey was long in discovering how he was pillaged. 
Cartwright, the name of the person who was preying on his 
employer, was not a young man. He was between forty and 
fifty years of age, and had been in various situations, where he 
had always given satisfaction, exception the score of being some- 
what gay and somewhat irritable. Privately, he was a man of 
loose habits, and for years his extravagances had been paid for 
by property clandestinely abstracted from his too-confiding 
master. Slow to believe in the reality of such wickedness, 
Mr. Harvey could with difficulty entertain the suspicions which 
began to dawn on his mind. At length all doubt was at an end. 
He detected Cartwright in the very agt of carrying off goods to 
a considerable amount. The man was tried at the Old Bailey 
for the offence ; but through a technical informality in the in- 
dictment, acquitted. 

Unable to find employment, and with a character gone, the 
liberated thief became savage, revengeful, and desperate. In 
stead of imputing his fall to his own irregularities, he con.sidered 


THE MARCH ASSIZE. 


7 


his late unfortunate employer as the cause of his ruin ; and now 
he bent all the energies of his dark nature to destroy the repu- 
tation of the man whom he had betrayed and plundered. Of 
all the beings self-delivered to the rule of unscrupulous malig- 
nity, with whom it has been my fate to come professionally in 
contact, I never knew one so utterly fiendish as this discomfited 
pilferer. Frenzied with his imaginary wrongs, he formed the 
determination to labor, even if it were for years, to ruin hia 
victim. Nothing short of death should divert him from this the 
darling object of his existence. 

Animated by these diabolical passions, Cartwright proceeded 
to his work. Harvey, he had too good reason to know, was in 
debt to persons who had made him advances ; and by means of 
artfully-concocted anonymous letters, evidently written by some 
one conversant with the matters on which he wrote, he succeeded 
in alarming the haberdasher’s creditors. The consequences were 
— demands of immediate payment, and, in spite of the debtor’s 
explanations and promises, writs, heavy law expenses, ruinous 
sacrifices, and ultimate bankruptcy. It may seem almost too 
marvelous for belief, but the story of this terrible revenge and 
its consequences is no fiction. Every incident in my narrative 
is true, and the whole may be found in hard outline in the 
records of the courts with which a few' years ago I was familiar 

The humiliated and distressed feelings of Harvey and his 
family may be left to the imagination. When he found him- 
self a ruined man, I dare say his mental sufferings were sufii- 
ciently acute. Yet he did not sit down in despair. To re- 
establish himself in business in England appeared hopeless ; but 
America presented itself as a scene where industry might find 
a reward ; and by the kindness of some friends, he was enabled 
to make preparations to emigrate with his wife and children. 


8 


THE MARCH VSSIZE. 


Towards the end of February he quitted London for one of the 
great seaports, where he was to embark for Boston. On ar- 
riving there with his family, Mr. Harvey took up his abode at 
a principal hotel. This, in a man of straitened means, was 
doubtless imprudent ; but he afterwards attempted to explain 
the circumstance by saying, that as the ship in which he had 
engaged his passage was to sail on the day after his arrival, he 
had preferred incurring a slight additional expense rather than 
that his wife — ^who was now, with failing spirits, nursing an 
infant — should be exposed to coarse associations and personal 
discomfort. In the expectation, however, of being only one 
night in the hotel, Harvey was unfortunately disappointed. 
Ship-masters, especially those commanding emigrant vessels, 
were then, as now, habitual promise-breakers ; and although 
each succeeding sun was to light them on their way, it was 
fully a fortnight before the ship stood out to sea. By that 
time a second and more dire reverse had occurred in the for- 
tunes of the luckless Harvey. 

Cartwright, whose appetite for vengeance was but whetted by 
his first success, had never lost sight of the movements of his 
victim ; and now he had followed him to the place of his em- 
barkation, with an eager but undefined purpose of working him 
some further and more deadly mischief. Stealthily he hovered 
about the house which sheltered the unconscious object of hi? 
malicious hate, plotting, as he afterwards confessed, the wildest 
schemes for satiating his revenge. Several times he made ex- 
cuses for calling at the hotel, in the hope of observing the nature 
of the premises, taking care, however, to avoid being seen by 
Mr. Harvey or his family. A fortnight passed away, and the 
day of departure of the emigrants arrived without the slightest 
opportunity occurring for the gratification of his purposes. The 


THE MARCH ASSIZE. 


9 


ship was leaving her berth ; most of the passengers were on 
board ; Mrs. Harvey and the children, with nearly the whole 
of the luggage, were already safely in the vessel ; Mr. Harvey 
only remained on shore to purchase some trifling article, and to 
settle his bill at the hotel on removing his last trunk. Cart- 
wright had tracked him all day ; he could not attack him in the 
street ; and he Anally followed him to the hotel, in order to 
wreak his vengeance on him in his private apartment, of the 
situation of which he had informed himself. 

Harvey entered the hotel flrst, and before Cartwright came 
up, he had gone down a passage into the bar to settle the bill 
which he had incurred for the last two days. Not aware of this 
circumstance, Cartwright, in the bustle which prevailed, went 
up stairs to Mr. Harvey’s bedroom and parlor, in neither of 
which, to his surprise, did he find the occupant ; and he turned 
away discomfited. Passing along towards the chief staircase, 
he perceived a room of which the door was open, and that on 
the table there lay a gold watch and appendages. Nobody was 
in the apartment ; the gentleman who occupied it had only a 
few moments before gone to his bed-chamber for a brief space. 
Quick as lightning a diabolical thought flashed through the brain 
of the villain, who had been baffled in his original intentions. 
He recollected that he had seen a trunk in Harvey’s room, and 
that the keys hung in the lock. An inconceivably short space 
of time served for him to seize the watch, to deposit it at the 
bottom of Harvey’s trunk, and to quit the hotel by a back stair, 
which led by a short cut to the harbor. The whole transaction 
was done unperceived, and the wretch at least departed unno 
ticed. 

Having finished his business at the bar, Mr. Harvey repaired 
CO his room, locked his trunk, which, being of a small and handy 


10 


THE MARCH ISSIZK. 


size, he mounted on his shoulder, and proceeded to leave the 
house by the back stair, in order to get as quickly as possible to 
the vessel. Little recked he of the interruption which was to 
be presented to his departure. He had got as far as the foot of 
the stair with his burden, when he was overtaken by a waiter 
who declared that he was going to leave the house clandestinely 
without settling accounts. It is proper to mention that Mr. 
Harvey had incurred the enmity of this particular waiter in 
consequence of having, out of his slender resources, given him 
too small a gratuity on the occasion of paying a former bill, and 
not aware of the second bill being settled, the waiter was rather 
glad to have an opportunity of charging him with a fi-audiilent 
design. In vain Mr. Harvey remonstrated, saying he had paid 
for every thing. The waiter would not believe his statement, 
and detained him “ till he should hear better about it.” 

“ Let me go, fellow ; I insist upon it,” said Mr. Harvey, 
burning with indignation. “ I am already too late.” 

“ Not a step, till I ask master if accounts are squared.” 

At this moment, while the altercation was at the hottest, a 
terrible ringing of bells was heard, and above stairs was a loud 
noise of voices, and of feet running to and fro. A chamber- 
maid came hurriedly down the stair, exclaiming that some one 
had stolen a gold watch from No. 17, and that nobody ought to 
leave the house till it was found. The landlord also, moved by 
the hurricane which had been raised, made his appearance at 
the spot where Harvey was interrupted in his exit. 

‘‘ What on earth is all this noise about, John inquired the 
landlord of the waiter. 

“ Why, sir, I thought it rather strange for any gentleman to 
leave the house by the back way, cwrying his own portmanteau, 
and so I was making a little breeze about it, fearing he had no' 


THE MARCH ASSIZE. 


1 . 


paid his bill, when all of a sudden Sally rushes down the staii 
and says as how No. 17 has missed his gold watch, and that no 
one should quit the hotel.” 

No. 17, an old, dry-looking military gentlemen, in a particu- 
larly high passion, now showed himself on the scene, uttering 
terrible threats of legal proceedings against the house for the 
loss he had sustained. 

Harvey was stupified and indignant, yet he could hardly help 
smiling at the pother. “ What,” said he, “ have I to do with 
all this } I have paid for everything ; I am surely entitled to 
go away if I like. Remember, that if I lose my passage to 
Boston, you shall answer for it.” 

“ I very much regret detaining you, sir,” replied the keeper 
of the hotel ; “ but you hear there has been a robbery com- 
mitted within the last few minutes, and as it will be proper to 
search every one in the house, surely you, who are on the point 
of departure, will have no objections to be searched first, and 
then be at liberty to go .^” 

There was something so perfectly reasonable in all this, that 
Harvey stepped into an adjoining parlor, and threw open his 
trunk for inspection, never doubting that his innocence would 
be immediately manifest. 

The waiter, whose mean rapacity had been the cause of the 
detention, acted as examiner. He pulled one article after 
another out of the trunk, and at length — horror of horrors ! 
—held up the missing watch with a look of triumph and 
scorn ! 

“ Who put that there .^” cried Harvey in an agony of thind 
which can be better imagined than described. “ Who has done 
me this grievous wrong ? I know nothing as to how the watch 
came into my trunk.” 


12 


THE MARCH ASSIZE. 


No one answered this appeal. All present stood for a moment 
m gloomy silence. 

“ Sir,” said the landlord to Harvey on recovering from his 
surprise, “ I am sorry for you. For the sake of a miserable 
trifle, you have brought ruin and disgrace on yourself. This is 
\ matter which concerns the honor of my house, and cannot stop 
here. However much it is against my feelings, you must go 
before a magistrate.” 

“ By all means,” added No. 17, with the importance of an 
injured man. “ A pretty thing that one’s watch is not safe in a 
house like tkia !” 

“ John, send Boots for a constable,” said the landlord. 

Harvey sat with his head leaning on his hand. A deadly 
cold perspiration trickled down his brow. His heart swelled 
and beat as if it would burst. What should he do ? Hi? 
whole prospects were in an instant blighted. “ Oh God ! do 
not desert a frail and unhappy being : give me strength to face 
this new and terrible misfortune,” was a prayer he internally 
uttered. A little revived, he started to his feet, and addressing 
himself to the landlord, he said, “ Take me to a magistrate in- 
stantly, and let us have this diabolical plot unraveled. I court 
inquiry into my character and conduct.” 

“ It is no use saying any more about it,” answered the land- 
lord ; “ here is Boots with a constable, and let us all go away 
together to the nearest magistrate. Boots, carry tliat trunk. 
John and Sally, you can follow us.” 

And so the party, trunk and all, under the constable as con 
ductor, adjourned to the house of a magistrate in an adjacen 
street. There the matter seemed so clear a case of felony — 
robbery in a dwelling-house — that Harvey, all protestations to 


THE MARCH ASSIZE. 


13 


jhe contrary, was fully committed for trial at the ensuing March 
assizes, then but a few days distant. 

At the period at which these incidents occurred, I was a 
young man going on my first circuits. I had not as yet been 
honored with perhaps more than three or four briefs, and these 
only in cases so slightly productive of fees, that I was compelled 
to study economy in my excursions. Instead of taking up my 

residence at an inn when visiting , a considerable seaport, 

where the court held its sittings, I dwelt in lodgings kept by a 
widow lady, where, at a small expense, I could enjoy perfect 
quietness, free from interruption. 

On the evening after my arrival on the March circuit of the 
year 17 — , I was sitting in my lodgings perusing a new work on 
criminal jurisprudence, when the landlady, after tapping at the 
door, entered my room. 

“ I am sorry to trouble you, sir,” said she ; “ but a lady has 
called to see you about a very distressing law case — very dis-- 
tressing indeed, and a very strange case it is too Only, if you 
could be so good as to see her 

“ Who is she 

“ All I know about it is this : she is a Mrs. Harvey She 
and her nusband and children were to sail yesterday for Boston 
All were on board except the husband ; and he, on leaving the 
large hotel over the way, was taken up for a robbery. Word 
was in the evening sent by the prisoner to his wife to come on 
shore, with all her children and the luggage ; and so she came 
back in the pilot boat, and was in such a state of distress, that 
my brother, who is on the preventive service, and saw her land, 
took pity on her, and had her and her children and things taken 
to a lodging on the quay. As my brother knows that we have 


14 


THE MARCH ASSIZE 


a London lawyer staying here, he has advised the poor woman 
to come and consult you about the case.” 

“ Well, I’ll see wha^ can be done. Please desire the lady to 
step in.” 

A lady was shortly shown in. She had been pretty, and was 
so still, but anxiety was pictured in her pale countenance. Her 
dress was plain, but not inelegant ; and altogether she had a neat 
and engaging appearance. 

“ Be so good as to sit down,” said I, bowing ; “ and tell me 
all you would like to say.” 

The poor woman burst into tears ; but afterwards recovering 
herself, she told me pretty nearly the whole of her history and 
that of her husband. 

Lawyers have occasion to see so much duplicity, that I did 
not all at once give assent to the idea of Harvey being innocent 
of the crime of which he stood charged. 

“ There is something perfectly inexplicable in the case,” I 
observed, “ and it would require sifting. Your husband, I hope 
has always borne a good character .?” 

“ Perfectly so. He was no doubt unfortunate in business ; 
but he got his certificate on the first examination ; and there are 
many who would testify to his uprightness.” And here again 
my client broke into tears, as if overwhelmed with her recollec- 
tions and prospects. 

“ I think I recollect Mr. Harvey’s shop,” said I soothingly 
‘ It seemed a very respectable concern ; and we must see what 
can be done. Keep up your spirits ; the only fear I have arises 

from the fact of Judge A being on the bench. He is 

usually considered severe, and if exculpatory evidence fail, youi 
husband may run the risk of being — transported.” A word of 
•more terrific import, with which I was about to conclude, stuck 


THE MARCH ASSIZE. 


16 


onuttered in my throat Have you employed an attorney 
I added 

“ No ; I have done nothing as yet, but apply to you, to beg 
of you to be my husband’s counsel.” 

“ Well, that must be looked to. I shall speak to a local 
agent, to prepare and work out the case ; and we shall all do 
our utmost to get an acquittal. To-morrow I wiU call on your 
husband in prison.” 

Many thanks were offered by the unfortunate lady, and she 
withdrew. 

I am not going to inflict on the reader a detailed account of 
this remarkable trial, which turned, as barristers would say, on 
a beautiful point of circumstantial evidence. Along with the 
attorney, a sharp enough person in his way, I examined various 
parties at the hotel, and made myself acquainted with the nature 
of the premises. The more we investigated, however, the more 
dark and mysterious — always supposing Harvey’s innocence — did 
the whole case appear. There was not one redeeming trait in 
the affair, except Harvey’s previous good character ; and good 
character, by the law of England, goes for nothing in opposition 
to facts proved to the satisfaction of a jury. It was likewise 

most unfortunate that A was to be the presiding judge. 

This man possessed great forensic acquirements, and was of 
spotless private character ; but, like the majority of lawyers of 
that day — when it was no extraordinary thing to hang twenty 
men in a morning at Newgate — ^he was a staunch stickler for the 
gallows as the only effectual reformer and safeguard of the social 
state. At this time he was but partially recovered from a long 
and severe indisposition, and the traces of recent suffering were 
distinctly apparent on his pale and passionless features. 

Harvey was arraigned in due form •, the evidence was gone 
2 


16 


THE KARCH ASSIZE. 


carefully through ; and everything, so far as I was concerned, 
was done that man could do. But at the time to which I refer, 
counsel was not allowed to address the court on behalf of the 
prisoner — a practice since introduced from Scotland — and con- 
sequently I was allowed no opportunity to draw the attention of 
the jury to the total want of any direct evidence of the prisoner’s 
guilt. Harvey himself tried to point out the unlikelihood of his 
being guilty ; but he was not a man gifted with dialectic quali- 
ties, and his harangue fell pointless on the understandings of the 
twelve common-place individuals who sat in the jury-box. The 
judge finally proceeded to sum the evidence, and this he did 
emphatically against the prisoner — dwelling with much force on 
the suspicious circumstance of a needy man taking up his abode 
at an expensive fashionable hotel ; his furtive descent from his 
apartments by the back stairs ; the undoubted fac^of the watch 
being found in his trunk ; the improbability of any one putting 
it there but himself ; and the extreme likelihood that the rob- 
bery was effected in a few moments of time by the culprit, just 
as he passed from the bar of the hotel to the room which he had 
occupied. “If,” said he to the jury, in concluding his address, 
‘ you can, after all these circumstances, believe the prisoner to 
be innocent of the crime laid to his charge, it is more than I can 
do. The thing seems to me as clear as the sun at noonday. 
The evidence, in short, is irresistible ; and if the just and neces- 
sary provisions of the law are not enforced in such very plain 
cases, then society will be dissolved, and security for property 
there will be none. Gentlemen, retire and make up your 
verdict.” 

The jury were not disposed to retire. After communing a 
few minutes together, one of them stood up and delivered the 
verdict : it was Chiilty ! The judge assumed the crownin^j 


THE MARCH AtSIZl. 


n 


badge of the judicial potentate — the black cap ; and the clerk 
of arraigns asked the prisoner at the bar, in the usual form, if 
he had anything to urge why sentence of death should not be 
passed upon him. 

Poor Harvey ! I durst scarcely look at him. As the sonorous 
words fell on his ear, he was gi-asping nervously with shaking 
hands at the front of the dock. He appeared stunned, be- 
wildered, as a man but half-awakened from a hideous dream 
might be supposed to look. He had comprehended, though he 
had scarcely heard, the verdict ; for on the instant, the voice 
which but a few years before sang to him by the brook side, 
was ringing through his brain, and he could recognize the little 
pattering feet of his children, as, sobbing and clinging to their 
shrieking mother’s dress, she and they were hurried out of court 
The clerk, after a painful pause, repeated the solemn formula 
By a strong effort the doomed man mastered his agitation ; his 
pale countenance lighted up with indignant fire, and firm and 
self-possessed, he thus replied to the fearful interrogatory : — 

“ Much could I say in the name, not of mercy, but of justice, 
why the sentence about to be passed on me should not be pro- 
nounced ; but nothing, alas ! that will avail me with you, pride- 
blinded ministers of death. You fashion to yourselves- -out of 
your own vain conceits do you fashion — modes and instruments, 
by the aid of which you fondly imagine to invest yourselves with 
attributes which belong only to Omniscience ; and now I warn 
you — and it is a voice from the tomb, in whose shadow I already 
itand, which addresses you — that you are about to commit a 
flost cruel and deliberate murder.” 

He paused, and the jury looked into each other’s eyes for the 
courage they could not find in their own hearts. The voice of 
oonscience spoke, but was only for a few moments audible. The 


suggestions that what grave parliaments, learned judges, and all 
classes of “ respectability” sanctioned, could not be wrong, much 
less murderous or cruel, silenced the “ still, small” tones, and 
tranquilized the startled jurors. 

‘‘ Prisoner at the bar,” said the judge with his cold, calm 
voice of destiny, “ I cannot listen to such observations : you 
have been found guilty of a heinous offence by a jury of your 
countrymen after a patient trial. With that finding I need 
scarcely say I entirely agree. I am as satisfied of your guilt as 
if I had seen you commit the act with my own bodily eyes. The 
circumstance of your being a person who, from habits and edu- 
cation, should have been above committing so base a crime, only 
aggravates your guilt. However, no matter who or what you 
have been, you must expiate your offence on the scaffold. The 
law has very properly, for the safety of society, decreed the pun- 
ishment of death for such crimes : our only and plain duty is to 
execute that law.” 

The prisoner did not reply : he was leaning with his elbows 
on the front of the dock, his bowed face covered with his out- 
spread hands ; and the judge passed sentence of death in the 
accustomed form. The court then rose, and a turnkey placed 
his hand upon the prisoner’s arm, to lead him away. Suddenly 
he uncovered his face, drew himself up to his full height — he 
was a remarkably tall man — and glared fiercely round upon the 
audience, like a wild animal at bay. “ My lord,” he cried, or 
rather shouted, in an excited voice. The judge motioned im- 
patiently to the jailor, and strong hands impelled the prisoner 
from the front of the dock. Bursting from them, he again 
sprang forward, and his arms outstretched, whilst his glittering 
eye seemed to hold the judge spell-bound, exclaimed, “ My 
lord, before another month has passed away, you will appear at 


THE MARCH ASSfZE. 


19 


the bar of another world, to answer for the life, the innocent 
life, which God bestowed upon me, but which you have im- 
piously cast away as a thing of naught and scorn !” He ceased, 
and was at once borne off. The court, in some confusion, hastily 
departed. It was thought at the time that the judge’s evidently 
failing health had suggested the prophecy to the prisoner. It 
only excited a few days’ wonder, and was forgotten. 

The position of a barrister in such circumstances is always 
painful. I need hardly say that my own feelings were of a very 
distressing kind. Conscious that if the unfortunate man really 
was guilty, he was at least not deserving of capital punishment, 
[ exerted myself to procure a reprieve. In the first place I 
waited privately on the judge ; but he would listen to no pro- 
posal for a respite. Along with a number of individuals — 
chiefiy of the Society of Friends — I petitioned the crown for a 
commutation of the sentence. But being unaccompanied with 
a recommendation from the judge, the prayer of our petition 
was of course disregarded : the law, it was said, must take its 
course. How much cruelty has been exercised under shelter of 
that remorseless expression ! 

I would willingly pass over the succeeding events. Unable 
to save his life, I endeavored to soothe the few remaining hours 
of the doomed convict, and frequently visited him in the con- 
demned cell. The more I saw of him, the deeper grew my 
sympathy in his case, which was that of no vulgar felon. “ I 
have been a most unfortunate man,” said he one day to me. 
** A destiny towards ruin in fortune and in life has pursued me. 
I feel as if deserted by God and man ; yet I know, or at least 
would persuade myself, that Heaven will one day vindicate my 
innocence of this foul charge. To think of being hanged like a 
dog for a crime at which my soul revolts ? Great is the crime 


20 


THE MARCH AftSIZE. 


of those imbecile jurors and that false and hard-hearted judge, 
who thus, by an irreversible decree, consign a fellow-mortal to 
a death of violence and disgrace Oh God, help me — ^help me 
to sustain that bitter, bitter horn* !” And then the poor man 
would throw himself on his bed and weep. 

But the parting with his wife and children. What pen can 
describe that terrible interview ! They knelt in prayer, their 
wo-begone countenances suffused in tears, and with hands clasped 
convulsively together. The scene was too harrowing and sacred 
for the eye of a stranger. I rushed from the cell, and buried 
myself in my lodgings, whence I did not remove till all was 
over. Next day James Harvey, a victim of circumstantial evi- 
dence, and of a barbarous criminal code, perished on the scaffold. 

Three weeks *afterwards, the court arrived at a populous city 
in the west of England. It had in the interval visited another 
assize town, and there Judge A had left three for execu- 

tion. At the trials of these men, however, I had not attended. 
So shocked had been my feelings with the mournful event which 

had taken place at , that I had gone into Wales for the 

sake of change of scene. After roaming about for a fortnight 
amidst the wild solitudes of Caernarvonshire, I took the stage 
for the city which I knew the court was to visit, and arrived on 
the day previous to the opening of the assizes. 

“ Well, are we to have a heavy calendar I inquired next 
morning of a brother barrister on entering the court. 

“ Rather light for a March assize,” replied the impatient 
counsel as he bustled onward. There’s Cartwright’s case — 
highway robbery — ^in which I am for the prosecution. He’ll 
swing for it, and perhaps four or five others.” 

“ A good hanging judge is A ,” said the under-eheriff, 


THE MARCH ASSIZE. 


21 


who at this moment joined us, rubbing his hands, as if pleased 
with the prospect of a few executions. “ No chance of the 
prophecy yonder coming to pass I suppose ?” 

“ Not in the least,” replied the bustling counsel. “ He never 
looked better. His illness has gone completely off And this 
day’s work will brighten him up.” 

Cartwright’s trial came on. I had never seen the man before, 
and was not aware that this was the same person whom Harvey 
had incidentally told me he had discharged for theft ; the truth 
being, that till the last moment of his existence, that unfortunate 
man had not known how much he had been a sacrifice to this 
wretch’s malice. 

The crime of which the villain now stood accused was that 
of robbing a farmer of the paltry sum of eight shillings, in the 
neighborhood of Ilfracombe. He pleaded not guilty, but put 
in no defence. A verdict was recorded against him, and in due 

form A sentenced him to be hanged. An expression of 

fiendish malignancy gleamed over the haggard features of the 
felon as he asked leave to address a few words to the court. It 
was granted. Leaning forward, and raising his heavy, scowling 
eyes to the judge, he thus began : — “ There is something on my 
mind, my lord — a dreadful crime — which, as I am to die for the 
eight shillings I took from the farmer, I may as well confess. 
You may remember Harvey, my lord, whom you hanged the 
other day at 

“ What of him, fellow ?” replied the judge, his features sud- 
denly flushing crimson. 

‘‘ Why, my lord, only this — that he was as innocent of the 
crime for which you hanged him as the child yet unborn ! I 
did the deed ! I put the watch in his trunk !” And to the 
unutterable horror of the entire court he related the whole par- 


22 


THE MARCH ASSIZE. 


ticulars of the transaction, the origin of his grudge against 
Harvey, and his delight on bringing him to the gallows. 

“ Inhuman, execrable villain !” gasped the judge in extreme 
excitement. 

‘‘ Cleverly done, though ! Was it not, my lord rejoined 
the ruffian with bitter irony. “ The evidence, you know, was 
iiTesistible ; the crime as clear as the sun at noonday ; and if 
in such plain cases, the just and necessary law was not enforced, 
society would be dissolved, and there would be no security for 
property ! These were your words, I think. How on that 
occasion I admired your lordship’s judgment and eloquence ! 
Society would be dissolved if an innocent man were not hanged ! 
Ha ! — ha ! — ha ! Capital ! — capital !” shouted the ferocious 
felon with demoniac glee, as he marked the effect of his words 
on the countenance of the judge. 

“Remove the prisoner!” cried the sheriff. An officer was 
about to do so ; but the judge motioned him to desist. His 
lordship’s features worked convulsively. He seemed striving to 
speak, but the words would not come. 

“ I suppose, my lord,” continued Cartwiight in low and hissing 
tones, as the shadow of unutterable despair grew and settled on 
his face — “ I suppose you know that his wife destroyed herself. 
The coroner’s jury said she had fallen accidentally into the 
water. I know better. She drowned herself under the agonies 
of a broken heart ! I saw her corpse, with the dead baby in 
its arms ; and then I felt, knew, that I was lost ! Lost, doomed 
to everlasting perdition ! Rut, my lord,” — and here the wretch 
broke into a howl wild and terrific — “ we shall go down together 
— down to where your deserts are known. A — h — ^h ! that 
pinches j^ou, does it ? Hound of a judge ! legal murderer ! 
coward ! 1 spurn and spit upon thee !” The rest of the ap- 


t H £ MARCH A88I2£. 


23 


palling objurgation was inarticulate, as the monster, foaming and 
sputtering, was dragged by an officer from the dock. 

Judge A had fallen forwards on his face, fainting and 

speechless with the violence of his emotions. The black cap 
had dropped from his brow. His bands were stretched out 
across the bench, and various members of the bar rushed to his 
assistance. The court broke up in frightful commotion. 

Two days afterwards the county paper had the following an- 
nouncement : — 

“ Died at the Royal Hotel, , on the 27th instant. Judge 

A , from an access of fever supervening upon a disordej 

from which he had imperfectly recovered.’* 

The prophecy was fulfilled ! 


THH NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 


About the commeneement of the present century there stood, 
near the centre of a rather extensive hamlet, not many miles 
distant from a northern seaport town, a large, substantially -built, 
but somewhat straggling building, known as Craig Farm (popu- 
larly Crook Farm) House. The farm consisted of about one 
hundred acres of tolerable arable and meadow land ; and at the 
time I have indicated, belonged to a farmer of the name of 
Armstrong. He had purchased it about three years previously, 
at a sale held in pursuance of a decree of the High Court of 
Chancery, for the purpose of liquidating certain costs incurred 
in the suit of Craig versus Craig, which the said high court had 
nursed so long and successfully, as to enable the solicitor to the 
victorious claimant to incarcerate his triumphant client for sev- 
eral years in the Fleet, in “ satisfaction of the charges of 
victory remaining due after the proceeds of the sale of Craig 
Farm had been deducted from the gross total. Farmer Arm- 
strong was married, hut childless ; his dame, like himself, was 
a native of Devonshire. They bore the character of a plodding, 
taciturn, morose-mannered couple : seldom leaving the farm 
except to attend market, and rarely seen at church or chapel, 
they naturally enough became objects of suspicion and dislike to 
the prying, gossipping villagers, to whom mystery or reserve of 
my kind was of course exceedingly annoying and unpleasant. 

Soon after Armstrong was settled in his new purchase 


THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 


26 


another stranger arrived, and took up his abode in the best 
apartments of the house. The new-comer, a man of about 
fifty years of age, and evidently, from his dress and gait, a 
sea faring person, was as reserved and unsocial as his landlord. 
His name, or at least that which he chose to be known by, was 
Wilson. He had one child, a daughter, about thii-teen years 
of age, whom he placed at a boarding-school in the adjacent 
town. He seldom saw her ; the intercourse between the father 
and daughter being principally carried on through Mary Strug- 
nell, a widow of about thirty years of age, and a native of the 
place. She was engaged as a servant to Mr. Wilson, and seldom 
left Craig Farm except on Sunday afternoons, when, if the 
weather was at all favorable, she paid a visit to an aunt living in 
the town ; there saw Miss Wilson ; and returned home usually 
at half-past ten o’clock — later rather than earlier. Armstrong 
was occasionally absent from his home for several days together, 
on business, it was rumored, for Wilson ; and on the Sunday in 
the first week of January 1802, both he and his wife had been 
away for upwards of a week, and were not yet returned. 

About a quarter-past ten o’clock on that evening the early- 
retiring inhabitants of the hamlet were roused from their 
slumbers by a loud, continuous knocking at the front door of 
Armstrong’s house : louder and louder, more and more vehe- 
ment and impatient, resounded the blows upon the stillness of 
the night, till the soundest sleepers were awakened. Windows 
were hastily thrown open, and presently numerous footsteps 
approached the scene of growing hubbub. The unwonted noise 
was caused, it was found, by Farmer xVrmstrong, who accom- 
panied by his wife, was thundering vehemently upon the door 
with a heavy black-thorn stick. Still no answer was obtained, 
Mrs Strugnell, it was supposed, had not returned from town ; 


26 


THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 


but where was Mr. WilsoUj who was almost always at home 
both day and night ? Presently a lad called out that a w hite 
sheet or cloth of some sort was hanging out of one of the back 
windows. This announcement, confirming the vague apprehen- 
sions which had begun to germinate in the wise heads of the 
villagers, disposed them to adopt a more effectual mode of 
obtaining admission than knocking seemed likely to prove 
Johnson, the constable of the parish, a man of great shrewd- 
ness, at once proposed to break in the door. Armstrong, who, 
as well as his wife, was deadly pale, and trembling violently, 
either with cold or agitation, hesitatingly consented, and crow- 
bars being speedily procured, an entrance was forced, and in 
rushed a score of excited men. Armstrong’s wife, it was after- 
wards remembered, caught hold of her husband’s arm in a 
hurried, frightened manner, whispered hastily in his ear, and 
then both followed into the house. 

“ Now, farmer,” cried Johnson, as soon as he had procured u 
light, “ lead the way up stairs.” 

Armstrong, who appeared to have somewhat recovered from 
his panic, darted at once up the staircase, followed by the whole 
body of rustics. On reaching the landing-place, he knocked at 
Mr. Wilson’s bedroom door. No answer was returned. Arm- 
strong seemed to hesitate, but the constable at once lifted the 
latch ; they entered, and then a melancholy spectacle presented 
itself 

Wilson, completely dressed, lay extended on the floor a life- 
less corpse. He had been stabbed in two places in the breast 
with some sharp-pointed instrument. Life was quite extinct. 
The window was open. On farther inspection, several bundles 
containing many of Wilson’s valuables in jewelry and plate, 
together with clothes, shirts, silk handkerchiefs, were found 


THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 


27 


The wardrobe and a secretary-bureau had been forced open. 
The assassins had, it seemed, been disturbed, and had hurried 
off by the window without their plunder. A hat was also picked 
up in the room, a shiny, black hat, much too small for the 
deceased. The constable snatched it up, and attempted to clap 
it on Armstrong’s head, but it was not nearly large enough. 
This, together with the bundles, dissipated a suspicion which had 
been growing in Johnson’s mind, and he roughly exclaimed, 
“You need not look so scared, farmer ; it’s not you : that’s 
quite clear.” 

To this remark neither Armstrong nor his wife answered a 
syllable, but continued to gaze at the corpse, the bundles, and 
the broken locks, in bewildered terror and astonishment. Prc.s- 
ently some one asked if any body had seen Mrs. Strugncll ? 

The question roused Armstrong, and he said, “ She is not 
come home : her door is locked.” 

“ How do you know that cried the constable, turning 
sharply round, and looking keenly in his face. “ How do you 
know that 

“ Because — because,” stamered Armstrong, “ because she 
always locks it when she goes out.” 

“ Which is her room 

“ The next to this.” 

They hastened out, and found the next door was fast. 

“ Are you there, Mrs. Strugnell.^” shouted Johnson. 

There was no reply. 

“ She is never home till half-past ten o’clock on Sunday 
evenings,” remarked Armstrong in a calmer voice. 

“ The key is in the lock on the inside,” cried a young man 
who had been striving to peep through the key-hole. 

Armstrong, it was afterwards sworn, started as if he had been 


28 


* 

THE NOUTHERN CIRCUIT. 

shot ; and his wife again clutched his arm with the same ner- 
vous, frenzied gripe as before. 

“Mrs. Strugnell, are you there?” once more shouted the 
constable. He was answered by a low moan. In an instant the 
frail door was burst in, and Mrs. Strugnell was soon pulled out, 
apparently more dead than alive, from underneath the bedstead, 
where she, in speechless consternation, lay partially concealed. 
Placing her in a chair, they soon succeeded — much more easily, 
indeed, than they anticipated — in restoring her to consciousness. 

Nervously she glanced round the circle of eager faces that 
environed her, till her eyes fell upon Armstrong and his wife, 
when she gave a loud shriek, and muttering, “ They, thxy are the 
murderers !” swooned, or appeared to do so, again instantly. 

The accused persons, in spite of their frenzied protestations 
of innocence, were instantly seized and taken off to a place of 
security ; Mrs. Strugnell was conveyed to a neighbor’s close by ; 
the house was carefully secured ; and the agitated and wonder- 
ing villagers departed to their several homes, but not, I fancy, to 
sleep any more for that night. 

The deposition made by Mrs. Strugnell at the inquest on the 
body was in substance as follows : — 

“ On the afternoon in question she had, in accordance with 
her usual custom, proceeded to town. She called on her aunt, 
took tea with her, and afterwards went to the Independent 
Chapel. After service, she called to see Miss Wilson, but was 
nformed that, in consequence of a severe cold, the young lady 
was gone to bed. She then immediately proceeded homewards, 
and consequently arrived at Craig Farm more than an hour 
before her usual time. She let herself in with her latch key, 
and proceeded to her bedroom. There was no light in Mr. 
Wilson’s chamber, but she could hear him moving about in it. 


THE MoRTHERN circuit. 


39 


She was just about to go down stairs, having put away her Sun- 
day bonnet and shawl, when she heard a noise, as of persons 
entering by the back way, and walking gently across the kitchen 
floor. Alarmed as to who it could be, Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong 
not being expected home for several days, she gently closed her 
door, and locked it. A few minutes after, she heard stealthy 
steps ascending the creaking stairs, and presently her door was 
tried, and a voice in a low hurried whisper said, “ Mary, are you 
there She was positive it was Mr. Armstrong’s voice, but 
was too terrified to answer. Then Mrs. Armstrong — she was 
sure it was she — said also in a whisper, and as if addressing her 
husband, “ She is never back at this hour.” A minute or so 
after there was a tap at Mr. Wilson’s door. She could not catch 
what answer was made ; but by Armstrong’s reply, she gathered 
that Mr. Wilson had lain down, and did not wish to be dis- 
turbed. He was often in the habit of lying down with his 
clothes on. Armstrong said, ‘‘ I will not disturb you, sir ; I’ll 
only just put this parcel on the table.” There is no lock to 
Mr. Wilson’s door. Armstrong stepped into the room, and 
almost immediately she heard a sound as of a violent blow, fol- 
lowed by a deep groan and then all was still. She was paralyzed 
with horror and affright. After the lapse of a few seconds, a 
voice — Mrs. Armstrong’s undoubUdly — asked in a tremulous 
tone if “ all was over Her husband answered ‘‘ Yes : but 
where be the keys of the writing-desk kept ‘‘In the little 
table-drawer,” was the reply. Armstrong then came out of the 
bedroom, and both went into Mr. Wilson’s sitting apartment. 
They soon returned, and crept stealthily along the passage to 
their own bedroom on the same floor. They then went down 
stairs to the kitchen. One of them — the woman, she had no 
doubt — went out the back way, and heavy footsteps again as- 


30 


THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 


cended the stairs. Almost dead with fright, she then crawled 
under the bedstead, and remembered no more till she found 
herself surrounded by the villagers.” 

In confirmation of this statement, a large clasp-knife belong- 
ing to Armstrong, and with which it was evident the murder had 
been perpetrated, was found in one corner of Wilson’s bedroom ; 
and a mortgage deed, for one thousand pounds on Craig Farm, 
the property of Wilson, and which Strugnell swore was always 
kept in the writing-desk in the front room, was discovered in a 
chest in the prisoner’s sleeping apartment, together with nearly 
one hundred and fifty pounds in gold, silver, and county bank- 
notes, although it was known that Armstrong had but a fortnight 
before declined a very advantageous offer of some cows he was 
desirous of purchasing, under the plea of being short of cash. 
Worse perhaps than all, a key of the back-door was found in his 
pocket, which not only confirmed Strugnell’s evidence, but 
clearly demonstrated that the knocking at the door for admit- 
tance, which had roused and alarmed the hamlet, was a pure 
subterfuge. The conclusion, therefore, almost universally arrived 
at throughout the neighborhood was, that Armstrong and his 
wife were the guilty parties ; and that the bundles, the broken 
locks, the sheet hanging out of the window, the shiny, black 
hat, were, like the knocking, mere cunning devices to mislead 
inquiry. 

The case excited great interest in the county, and I esteemed 
myself professionally fortunate in being selected to hold the 
brief for the prosecution. I had satisfied myself, by a perusal 
of the depositions, that there was no doubt of the prisoners’ 
guilt, and I determined that no effort on my part should be 
spared to insure the accomplishment of the ends of justice. 1 
drew the indictment myself ; and in my opening address to the 


THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 


3 ) 


jury, dwelt with all the force and eloquence of which I .was 
master, upon the henious nature of the crime, and the conclu* 
siveness of the evidence by which it had been brought home to 
the prisoners. 1 may here, by way of parenthesis, mention 
that I resorted to a plan in my address tp the jury which I have 
seldom known to fail. It consisted in fixing my eyes and 
addressing my language to each juror one after the other. In 
this way each considers the address to be an appeal to his indi- 
vidual intelligence, and responds to it by falling into the views 
of the barrister. On this occasion the jury easily fell into the 
trap. I could see that I had got them into the humor of put- 
ting confidence in the evidence I had to produce. 

The trial proceeded. The cause of the death was scientifi- 
cally stated by two medical men. Next followed the evidence 
as to the finding of the knife in the bedroom of the deceased ; 
the discovery of the mortgage deed, and the large sum of money, 
in the prisoners’ sleeping apartment ; the finding the key of the 
back-door in the male prisoner’s pocket ; and his demeanor and 
expressions on the night of the perpetration of the crime. In 
his cross-examination of the constable, several facts perfectly 
new to me were elicited by the very able counsel fbr the pris- 
oners Their attorney had judiciously maintained the strictest 
secrecy as to the nature of the defence, so that it now took me 
completely by surprise. The constable, in reply to questions by 
counsel, stated that the pockets cf the deceased were empty ; 
that not only his purse, but a gold watch, chain, and seals, which 
he usually wore, had vanished, and no trace of them had as yet 
been discovered. Many other things were also missing. A 
young man of the name of Pearce, apparently a sailor, had 
been seen in the village once or twice in the company of Mary 
StrugneU ; but he did not notice what sort of hat he generaUj 
3 


32 


THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT 


wore ; he had not seen Pearce since the night the crime was 
committed j had not sought for him. 

Mary Strugnell was the next witness. She repeated her pre- 
vious evidence with precision and apparent sincerity, and then 
I abandoned her with a mixed feeling of anxiety and curiosity, 
to the counsel for the defence. A subtle and able cross-exam- 
ination of more than two hours’ duration followed ; and at its 
conclusion, I felt that the case for the prosecution was so dam 
aged, that a verdict of condemnation was, or ought to be, out 
of the question. The salient points dwelt upon, and varied in 
every possible way, in this long sifting, were these : — 

“ What was the reason she did not return in the evening in 
question to her aunt’s to supper as usual 

“ She did not know, except that she wished to get home.” 

“ Did she keep company with a man of the name of Pearce 

“ She had walked out with him once or twice.” 

“ When was the last time .?” 

“ She did not remember.” 

“ Did Pearce walk with her home on the night of the mur- 
der .?” 

“ No.” 

“ Not part of the way .?” 

“ Yes ; part of the way.” 

“ Did Pearce sometimes wear a black, shiny hat ?” 

“ No — ^yes : she did not remember.” 

“ Where was Pearce now .?” 

‘‘ She didn’t know.” 

“ Had he disappeared since that Sunday evening ?” 

“ She didn’t know.” 

“ Had she seen him since ?” 

“ No ” 


THE NORTHERN CIRJUIT. 


33 


“ Had Mr. Wilson ever threatened to discharge her for inso- 
lence to Mrs. Armstrong 

“ Yes ; but she knew he was not in earnest.” 

“ Was not the clasp-knife that had been found always left in 
the kitchen for culinary purposes 

“ No — not always ; generallj — ^but not this time that Arm- 
strong went away, she was sure.” 

“ Mary Strugnell, you be a false-sworn woman before Grod 
and man !” interrupted the male prisoner with great violence of 
manner. 

The outbreak of the prisoner was checked and rebuked by 
the judge, and the cross-examination soon afterwards closed. 
Had the counsel been allowed to follow up his advantage by an 
address to the jury, he would, I doubt not, spite of their preju- 
dices against the prisoners, have obtained an acquittal ; but as 
it was, after a neutral sort of charge from the judge, by no 
means the ablest that then adorned the bench, the jurors, hav- 
ing deliberated for something more than half an hour, returned 
into court with a verdict of “ guilty ” against both prisoners, 
accompanying it, however with a strong recommendation to 
mercy ! 

“ Mercy !” said the judge. “ What for } On what ground 
The jurors stared at each other and at the judge : they 
had no reason to give ! The fact was, their conviction of the 
prisoners’ guilt had been very much shaken by the cross- 
examination of the chief witness for the prosecution, and this 
recommendation was a compromise which conscience made with 
doubt. I have known many such instances. 

The usual ridiculous formality of asking the wretched convicts 
what they had to urge why sentence should not be passed upon 
them was gone through ; the judge, with unmoved feelings, put 


34 


THK NORTHERN CIROUIl. 


on the fatal cap ; and then a new and startling light burst upon 
the mysterious, bewildering affair. 

“Stop, my lord!” exclaimed Armstrong with rough vehe- 
mence. “Hear me speak! I’ll tell ye all about it; I will 
indeed, my lord. Quiet, Martha, I tell ye. It’s I, my lord, 
that’s guilty, not the woman. God bless ye, my lord ; not the 
wife ’ Doant hurt the wife, and I’se tell ye all about it. I 
alone am guilty ; not, the Lord be praised, of murder, but of 
robbery !” 

“ Joh»i ! — John!” sobbed the wife, clinging passionately to 
her husband, “ let us die together !” 

“Quiet, Martha, I tell ye! Yes, my lord, I’se tell ye all 
about it. I was gone away, wife and I, for more nor a week, to 
receive money for Mr. Wilson, on account of smuggled goods — 
that money, my lord, as was found in the chest. When we 
came home on that dreadful Sunday night, my lord, we went in 
the back way ; and hearing a noise, I went up stairs, and found 
poor Wilson stone-dead on the floor. I were dreadful sheared, 
and let drop the candle. I called to wife, and told her of it. 
She screamed out, and amaist fainted away. And then, my 
lord, all at once the devil shot into my head to keep the money 
I had brought ; and knowing as the keys of the desk where the 
mortgage writing was kept was in the bedroom, I crept back, as 
that false-hearted woman said, got the keys, and took the deed ; 
and then I persuaded wife, who had been trembling in the 
kitchen all the while, that we had better go out quiet again, as 
there was nobody in the house but us : I had tried that woman’s 
door — and we might perhaps be taken for the murderers. And 
so we did ; and that’s the downright, honest truth, my lord. 
I’m rightly served ; but God bless you, doant hurt the woman — 
my wife, my lord, these thirty years Five-and-twenty years 


THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 


35 


ago come May, which I shall never see, we buried our two 
children. Had they lived, I might have been a better man ; 
but the place they left empty was soon filled up by love of 
cursed lucre, and that has brought me here. I deserve it ; but 
oh, mercy, my lord! mercy, good gentlemen !” — turning from 
the stony features of the judge to the jury, as if they could 
nelp him— “ not for me, but the wife. She be as innocent of 
this as a new-born babe. It’s III! scoundrel that I be, that 
has brought thee, Martha, to this shameful pass !” The rug- 
ged man snatched his life-companion to his breast with passion- 
ate emotion, and tears of remorse and agony streamed down his 
rough cheeks. 

I was deeply affected, and felt that the man had uttered the 
whole truth. It was evidently one of those cases in which a 
person liable to suspicion damages his own cause by resorting to 
a trick. No doubt, by his act of theft, Armstrong had been 
driven to an expedient which would not have been adopted by 
a person perfectly innocent. And thus, from one thing to 
another, the charge of murder had been fixed upon him and his 
hapless wife. When his confession had been uttered, I felt a 
species of self-accusation in having contributed to his destruc- 
tion, and gladly would I have undone the whole day’s proceed- 
ings. The judge, on the contrary, was quite undisturbed. 
Viewing the harangue of Armstrong as a mere tissue of false- 
hood, he cooly pronounced sentence of death on the prisoners. 
They were to be hanged on Monday. This was Friday. 

“ A bad job !” whispered the counsel for the defence as he 
passed me. “ That witness of yours, the woman Strugnell, is 
the real culprit.” 

I tasted no dinner that day : I was sick at heart ; for I felt 
as if the blood of two fellow-creatures was on my hands. In 


36 


THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 


the evening I sallied forth to the judge’s lodgings. He listened 
to all I had to say ; but was qui^e impertubable. The obstinate 
old man was satisfied that the sentence was as it should be. I 
returned to my inn in a fever of despair. Without the approval 
of the judge, I knew that an application to the Secretary of State 
was futile. There was not even time to send to London, unless 
the judge had granted a respite. 

All Saturday and Sunday I was in misery. I denounced 
capital punishment as a gross iniquity — a national sin and dis- 
grace ; my feelings of course being influenced somewhat by a 
recollection of that unhappy afiair of Harvey, noticed in my 
previous paper. I half resolved to give up the bar, and rather 
go and sweep the streets for a livelihood, than run the risk of 
getting poor people hanged who did not deserve it. 

On the Monday morning I was pacing up and down my break 
Fast-room in the next assize town, in a state of great excitement, 
when a chaise-and-four drove rapidly up to the hotel, and out 
tumbled Johnson the constable. His tale was soon told. On 
the previous evening, the landlady of the Black Swan, a road- 
side public-house about four miles distant from the scene of the 
murder, reading the name of Pearce in the report of the trial 
in the Sunday county paper, sent for J ohnston to state that that 
person had on the fatal evening called and left a portmanteau 
in her charge, promising to call for it in an hour, but had never 
been there since. On opening the pormanteau, Wilson’s watch, 
chains, and seals, and othe. property, were discovered in it ; 
and Johnson had, as soon as it was possible, set ofi* in search of 
me. Instantly, for there was not a moment to spare, I, in com- 
pany with Armstrong’s counsel, sought the judge, and with some 
difficulty obtained from him a formal order to the sheriff to sus- 
pend the execution till further orders Off I and the constable 


THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 


37 


started, and happily arrived in time to stay the execution, and 
deprive the already-assembled mob of the brutal exhibition they 
so anxiously awaited. On inquiring for Mary Strugnell, we 
found that she had absconded on the evening of the trial. All 
search for her proved vain. 

Five months had passed away ; the fate of Armstrong and 
his wife was still undecided, when a message was brought to my 
chambers in the Temple from a woman said to be dying in St. 
Bartholomew’s Hospital. It was Mary Strugnell ; who, when 
in a state of intoxication, had fallen down in front of a carriage, 
as she was crossing near Holborn Hill, and had both her legs 
broken. She was dying miserably, and had sent for me to make 
a full confession relative to Wilson’s murder. Armstrong’s ac- 
count was perfectly correct. The deed was committed by 
Pearce, and they were packing up their plunder when they 
were startled by the unexpected return of the Armstrongs. 
Pearce, snatching up a bundle and a portmanteau, escaped by 
the window ; she had not nerve enough to attempt it, and 
crawled back to her bedroom, where she, watching the doings 
of the farmer through the chinks of the partition which sepa- 
rated her room from, the passage, concocted the story which 
convicted the prisoners. Pearce thinking himself pursued, too 
heavily encumbered for rapid flight, left the portmanteau as 
described, intending to call for it in the morning, if his fears 
proved groundless. He, however, had not courage to risk calling 
again, and made the best of his way to London. He was now 
in Newgate under sentence of death for a burglary, accompanied 
by personal violence to the inmates of the dwelling he and his 
gang had entered and robbed. I took care to have the deposi- 
tion of the dying wretch put into proper form ; and the result 
was, after a great deal of petitioning and worrying of authori- 


as 


THE northern ClRCiJlT. 


ties, a full pardon for both Armstrong and his wife. They sold 
Craig Farm, and removed to some other part of the country, 
where, I never troubled myself to inquire. Deeply grateful 
was I to he able at last to wash my hands of an affair, which 
had cost me so much anxiety and vexation ; albeit the lesson 
it afforded me of not coming hastily to conclusions, even when 
the truth seems, as it were, upon the surface of the matter, has 
not been, I trust, v ^hout its uses. 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


1 HAD just escaped to my chambers one winter afternoon from 
a heavy trial “ at bar” in the King’s Bench, Westminster, and 
was poring over a case upon which an “ opinion” was urgently 
solicited, when my clerk entered with a letter which he had been 
requested to deliver by a lady, who had called twice before 
during the day for the purpose of seeing me. Vexed at the 
interruption, I almost snatched the letter from the man’s hand, 
hastily broke the seal, and to my great surprise found it was 
from my excellent old friend Sir Jasper Thornely of Thornely 
Hall, Lancashire. It ran as follows : — 

“ My Dear , The bearer of this note is a lady whom I 

am desirous of serving to the utmost extent of my ability. - 
That she is really the widow she represents herself to be, and 
her son consequently heir to the magnificent estates now in 
possession of the Emsdales — you remember how they tripped 

up my heels at the last election for the borough of ! — I 

have no moral doubt whatever ; but whether her claim can be 
legally established is another affair. She will tell you the story 
herself. It was a heartless business ; but Sir Harry, who, you 
have no doubt heard, broke his neck in a steeple-chase about 
ten months ago, was a sad wild dog. My advice is, to look out 
for a sharp, clever, persevering attorney, and set him upon a 
hunt for evidence. If he succeed. I undertake to pay him a 


40 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


thousand pfunds over and above his legal costs. He’ll nose it 
out for that, I should think ! — Yours, truly, 

Jasper Thornely. 

“ P. S. — Emsdale’s son, I have just heard — confound their 
impudence ! — intends, upon the strength of this accession of 

property, to stand for the county against my old friend , at 

the dissolution, which cannot now be far off. If you don’t think 
one thousand pounds enough. I’ll double it. A cruelly, ill- 
used lady ! and as to her son, he’s the very image of the late 
Sir Harry Compton. In haste — J. T. I re-open the letter to 
enclose a cheque for a hundred pounds, which you will pay the 
attorney on account. They’ll die hard, you may be sure. If it 
could come off next assizes, we should spoil them for the county 
— J. T.” 


“ Assizes” — “ county” — “ Sir Harry Compton,” I involun- 
tarily murmured, as I finished the perusal of my old friend’s 
incoherent epistle. “ What on earth can the eccentric old fox- 
hunter mean . ‘‘ Show the lady in,” I added in a louder 
tone to the clerk. She presently appeared, accompanied by a 
remarkably handsome boy about six years of age, both attired 
in deep mourning. The lady approached with a timid, furtive 
step and glance, as if she were entering the den of some grim 
ogre, rather than the quiet study of a civilized lawyer of mature 
age. I was at once struck by her singular and touching loveli- 
ness. 1 have never seen a woman that so completely realized 
the highest Madonna type of youthful, matronly beauty — its 
starlight radiance and mild serenity of sorrow. Her voice, too, 
gentle and low, had a tone of patient sadness in it strangely 
affecting. She was evidently a person, if not of high birth, of 
refined manners and cultivated mind ; and I soon ceased to 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


41 


sfonder at warm-hearted old Sir Jasper’s enthusiasm in her 
cause. Habitually, however, on my guard against first impres- 
sions, I courteously, but coldly, invited her first to a seat, and 
next to a more intelligible relation of her business with me than 
could be gathered from the letter of which she was the bearer. 
She complied, and I was soon in possession of the following 
facts and fancies : — 

Violet Dalston and her sister Emily had lived for several 
years in close and somewhat straitened retirement with their 
father. Captain Dalston, at Rock Cottage, on the outskirts of a 
village about six miles distant from Leeds, when Captain Dals- 
ton, who was an enthusiastic angler, introduced to his home a 
gentleman about twenty-five years of age, of handsome exterior 
and gentlemanly manners, with whom congeniality of tastes and 
pursuits had made him acquainted. This stranger was intro- 
duced to Violet (my interesting client) and'her sister, as a Mr. 
Henry Grainger, the son of a London merchant. The object 
of his wanderings through the English counties was, he said, to 
recruit his health, which had become affected by too close ap- 
plication to business, and to gratify his taste for angling, 
sketching, and so on. He became a frequent visitor ; and the 
result, after the lapse of about three months, was a proposal for 
the hand of Violet. His father allowed him, he stated, five 
hundred pounds per annum ; but in order not to mortally offend 
the old gentleman, who was determined, if his son married at 
all, it should be either to rank or riches, it would be necessary 
to conceal the marriage till after his death. This commonplace 
story had been, it appeared, implicitly credited by Captain 
Dalston ; and Violet Dalston and Henry Grainger were united 
in holy wedlock — not at the village church near where Captain 
Dalston resided, but in one of the Leeds churches. The wit- 


42 


THE COJSTESTED MARRIAGE. 


nesses were the bride’s father and sister, and a Mr. Bilston, a 
neighbor. This marriage had taken place rather more than 
seven years since, and its sole fruit was the fine-looking hoy who 
accompanied his mother to my ofiSce. Mr. Grrainger, soon after 
the marriage, persuaded the Dalstons to leave Bock Cottage, 
and take up their abode in a picturesque village in Cumberland, 
where he had purchased a small house, with some garden and 
ornamental grounds attached. 

Five years rolled away — not, as I could discern, too happily 
— when the very frequent absences of Violet’s husband in 
London, as he alleged (all her letters to him were directed to 
the post-office, St. Martin’s le Grand — till called for), were 
suddenly greatly prolonged ; and on his return home, after an 
absence of more than three months, he abruptly informed the 
family that the affairs of his father, who was dying, had been 
found to be greatly embarrassed, and that nothing was left foi 
him and them but emigration to America, with such means as 
might be saved from the wreck of the elder Grainger’s property. 
After much lamentation and opposition on the part of Emily 
Dalston and her father, it was finally conceded as Violet’s 
husband wished ; and the emigration was to have taken place in 
the following spring, Henry Grainger to follow them the instant 
he could wind up his father’s affairs. About three months 
before their intended departure — this very time twelvemonth, 
as nearly as may be — Captain Dalston was suddenly called to 
London, to close the eyes of an only sister. This sad duty ful- 
filled, he was about to return, when, passing towards dusk down 
St J ames Street, he saw Henry Grainger, habited in a remark- 
able sporting-dress, standing with several other gentlemen at the 
door of one of the club-houses. Hastening across the street to 
accost him, he was arrested for a minute or so by a line of car* 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


43 


riages which turned sharply out of Piccadilly ; and when he did 
reach the other side, young Mr. Grainger and his companions 
had vanished. He inquired of the porter, and was assured that 
no Mr. Grainger, senior or junior, was known there Persisting 
that he had seen him standing within the doorway, and describ- 
ing his dress, the man with an insolent laugh exclaimed that the 
gentleman who wore that dress was the famous sporting baronet, 
Sir Harry Compton ! 

Bewildered, and suspecting he hardly knew what. Captain 
Dalston, in defiance of young Grainger’s oft-iterated injunctions, 
determined to call at his father’s residence, which he had always 
understood to be in Leadenhall Street. No such name was, 
however, known there ; and an examination, to which he was 
advised, of the “ Commercial Directory” failed to discover the 
whereabout of the pretended London merchant. Heart-sick and 
spirit-wearied. Captain Dalston returned home only to die. A 
violent cold, caught by imprudently riding in such bitter 
weather as it then was, on the outside of the coach, aggravated 
by distress of mind, brought his already enfeebled frame to the 
grave in less than two months after his arrival in Cumberland. 
He left his daughters utterly unprovided for, except by the legal 
claim which the eldest possessed on a man who, he feared, would 
turn out to be a worthless impostor. The penalty he paid for 
consenting to so imprudent a marriage was indeed a heavy and 
bitter one. Months passed away, and still no tidings of Violet’s 
husband reached the sisters’ sad and solitary home. At length, 
stimulated by apprehensions of approaching destitution — whose 
foot was already on the threshold — and desirous of gratifying a 
whim of Emily’s, Violet consented to visit the neighborhood of 
Compton Castle (the seat, her sister had ascertained, of mo 
‘‘ celebrated sporting baronet,” as th^ porter called him) on 


44 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


their way to London, where they had relatives who, though not 
rich, might possibly be able to assist them in obtaining some 
decent means of maintenance. They alighted at the “ Comp- 
ton Arms,” and the first object which met the astonished gaze 
of the sisters as they entered the principal sitting-room of the 
inn, was a full-length portrait of Violet’s husband, in the exact 
sporting-dress described to them by their father. An ivory 
tablet attached to the lower part of the frame informed the 
gazer that the picture was a copy, by permission, of the cele- 
brated portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, of Sir Harry Compton, 
Baronet. They were confounded, overwhelmed, bewildered. 
Sir Harry, they found, had been killed about eight months 
previously in a steeple-chase ; and the castle and estates had 
passed, in default of direct issue, to a distant relative. Lord 
Emsdale. Their story was soon bruited about ; and, in the 
opinion of many persons, was confirmed beyond reasonable 
question by the extraordinary likeness they saw or fancied 
between Violet’s son and the deceased baronet. Amongst 
others. Sir Jasper Thornely was a firm believer in the identity 
of Henry Grainger and Sir Harry Compton ; but unfortunately, 
beyond the assertion of the sisters that the portrait of Sii* Harry 
was young Grainger’s portrait, the real or imaginary likeness of 
the child to his reputed father, and some score of letters ad- 
dressed to Violet by her husband, which Sir Jasper persisted 
were in Sir Harry’s handwriting, though few others did (the 
hand, I saw at a glance, was a disguised one), not one tittle of 
evidence had he been able to procure for love or money. As a 
last resource, he had consigned the case to me, and the vulpine 
sagacity of a London attorney. . 

I suppose my countenance must be what is called a “ speak- 
ing” one, for I had made no reply in words to this statement 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


45 


of a case upon which I and a “ London attorney” were to 
ground measures for wresting a magnificent estate from the clutch 
of a powerful nobleman, and by “ next assizes” too — ^when the 
lady’s beautiful eyes filled with tears, and turning to her child, 
she murmured in that gentle, agitating voice of hers, My 
poor boy .” The words I was about to utter died on my tongue, 
and I remained silent for several minutes. After all, thought I, 
this lady is evidently sincere in her expressed conviction that 
Sir Harry Compton was her husband. If her surmise be cor- 
rect, evidence of the truth may perhaps be obtained by a keen 
search for it; and since Sir Jasper guarantees the expenses 

I rang the hell. “ Step over to Cursitor Street,” said I 

to the clerk as soon as he entered ; and if Mr. Ferret is 
within, ask him to step over immediately.” Ferret was just the 
man for such a commission. Indefatigable, resolute, sharp- 
witted, and of a ceaseless, remorseless activity, a secret or a fact 
had need be very profoundly hidden for him not to reach and 
fish it up. I have heard solemn doubts expressed by attorneys 
opposed to him as to whether he ever really and truly slept at 
all — that is, a genuine Christian sleep, as distinguished from a 
merely canine one, with one eye always half open. Mr. Ferret 
had been for many years Mr. Simpkins’ managing clerk ; but 
ambition, and the increasing requirements of a considerable 
number of young Ferrets, determined him on commencing busi- 
ness on his own account ; and about six ir on tbs previous to the 
period of which I am now writing, a brass door-plate in Cursitor 
Street, Chancery Lane, informed the public that Samuel Ferret, 
Esq., Attorney-at-Law, might be consulted within. 

Mr. Samuel Ferret was fortunately at home ; and after a very 
brief interval, made his appearance, entering with a short pro- 
fessional bow to me, and a very profound one to the lady, in 


46 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


whom his quick gray eye seemed intuitively to espy a client. 
As soon as he was seated, I handed him Sir Jasper’s letter. 
He perused it carefully three times, examined the seal atten- 
tively, and handed it back with — ‘‘ An excellent letter as far as 
it goes, and very much to the point. You intend, I suppose, 
that I should undertake this little affair 

“ Yes, if, after hearing the ladj ’s case, you feel disposed to 
venture upon it.” 

Mr. Samuel Ferret’s note-book was out in an instant ; and the 
lady, uninterrupted by a syllable from him, re-told her story. 

Good, very good, as far as it goes,” remarked undismayed 
Samuel Ferret when she concluded ; “ only it can scarcely be 
said to go very far. Moral presumption, which, in our courts 
unfortunately, isn’t worth a groat. Never mind. Magna est 
veritas^ and so on. When, madam, did you say Sir Harry — 
Mr. Grainger — first bjegan to urge emigration 
Between two and three years ago.” 

“ Have the goodness, if you please, to hand me the baronet- 
age.’'’ I did so. “ Good,” resumed Ferret, after turning over 
the leaves for a few seconds, “ very good, as far as it goes. It 
is now just two years and eight months since Sir Harry suc- 
ceeded his uncle in the title and estates. You would no doubt 
soon have heard, madam, that your husband was dead. Truly 
the heart of man is deceitful above all things, and desperately 

wicked ; and yet such conduct towards such a lady” 

Ferret intended no mere compliment ; he was only giving utter- 
terance to the thoughts passing through his brain ; but his 
client’s mounting color warned him to change the topic, which 
he very adroitly did. You intend, of course,” said he, 
addressing me, “to proceed at law ? No rumble-tumble through 
the spiritual courts 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


47 


“ Certainly, if sufficient evidence to justify such a course can 
be obtained.” 

“ Exactly : Doe, demise of Compton, versus Emsdale ; action 
in ejectment, judgment of ouster. Our friend Doe, madam — 
a very accommodating fellow is Doe — will, if we succeed, put 
you in possession as natural guardian of your son. Well, sir,” 
turning to me, ‘‘ I may as well give you an acknowledgment for 
that cheque. I undertake the business, and shall, if possible, 
be off to Leeds by this evening’s mail.” The acknowledgment 
was given, and Mr. Ferret, pocketing the cheque, departed in 
high glee. 

“ The best man, madam, in all broad London,” said I in 
answer to Mrs. Grainger’s somewhat puzzled look, “ you could 
have retained. Fond as he seems, and in fact is, of money — 
what sensible person is not } — Lord Emsdale could not bribe 
him with his earldom, now that he is fairly engaged in your 
behalf, I will not say to betray you, but to abate his indefatiga- 
ble activity in furtherance of your interests. Attorneys, madam, 
be assured, whatever nursery tales may teach, have, the very 
sharpest of them, their points of honor.” The lady and her son 
departed, and I turned igain to the almost forgotten “ case.” 

Three weeks had nearly glided by, and still no tidings of Mr. 
Ferret. Mrs. Grainger, and her sister Emily Dalston, a very 
charming person, had called repeatedly ; but as I of course had 
nothing to communicate, they were still condemned to languish 
under the heart-sickness caused by hope defe’^red. At last our 
emissary made his wished-for appearance. 

“ Well, Mr. Ferret,” said I, on entering my library, where 1 
ibund him composedly awaiting my arrival, “ what success 

“ Why, nothing of much consequence as yet,” replied he ; 

I am, you know, only, as it were, just commencing the investi- 
4 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


AS 


gation. The Leeds parson that married them is deadj and ib** 
old clerk is paralytic, and has lost his memory. If, however, 
they were both alive, and in sound health of mind and body, 
they could, I fancy, help us but little, as Bilston tells me neither 
the Dalstons nor Grainger had ever entered the church till tne 
morning of the wedding ; and they soon afterwards removed to 
Jumberland, so that it is scarcely possible either parson or clerk 
could prove that Violet Dalston was married to Sir Harr^ 
Compton. A very intelligent fellow is Bilston : he was present 
at the marriage, you remember ; and a glorious witness, if he 
had only something of importance to depose to ; powdered hair 
and a pigtail, double chin, and six feet in girth at least ; highly 
respectable — capital witness, very — only, unfortunately, he can 
only testify that a person calling himself Grainger married 
Violet Dalston ; not much in that !” 

“ So, then, your three weeks’ labor has been entirely thrown 
away !” 

“ Not so fast — not so fast — ^you jump too hastily at conclu- 
sions. The Cumberland fellow that sold Grainger the house — 
only the equity of redemption of it, by the way — there’s a large 
mortgage on it — can prove nothing. Nobody about there can, 
except the surgeon ; he can prove Mrs. Grainger’s accouchemeni 
— that is something. I have been killing myself every evening 
this last week with grog and tobacco smoke' at the “ Compton 
Arms,” in the company of the castle servants, and if the calves' 
heads had known anything essential, I fancy I should have 
wormed it out of them. They have, however, kindly furnished 
me with a scrawl of introduction to the establishment now in 
town, some of whom I shall have the honor to meet, in the 
character of an out-and-out liberal sporting gentleman, at the 
“ Albemarle Arms” this evening. I want to get hold of hia 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


49 


confidential valet, if he had one- -those go-a-head fellows gener- 
ally have — a Swiss, or some other foreign animal.” 

“ Is this all 

‘‘ Why, no,” rejoined Ferret, with a sharp twinkle of his 
sharp gray eye, amounting almost to a wink ; “ there is one cir- 
cumstance which I cannot help thinking, though I scarcely 
know why, will put us, by the help of patience and perseverance, 
on the right track. In a corner of the registry of marriage 
there is written Z. Z. in bold letters. In no other part of the 
book does this occur. What may that mean 

“ Had the incumbent of the living a curate at the 
time 

“ No. On that point I am unfortunately too well satisfied. 
Neither are there any names with such initials in any of the 
Leeds churchyards. Still this Z. Z. may be of importance, if 
we could but discover who he is. But how } — that is the ques- 
tion. Advertise } Show our hands to the opposite players, and 
find if Z. Z. is really an entity, and likely to be of service, that 
when we want him in court, he is half way to America. No, 
no ; that would never do.” 

Mr. Ferret I saw was getting into a brown study ; and as I 
had pressing business to despatch, I got rid of him as speedily 
as I could, quite satisfied, spite of Z. Z., that Mrs. Grainger’s 
chance of becoming Lady Compton was about equal to mine of 
ascending the British throne some fine day. 

Two days afterwards I received the following note : — 

“ Dear Sir — Z. Z. is the man ! I’m off to Shropshire. 
Back, if possible, the day after to-morrow. Not a word even to 
the ladies. Huzza ! In haste, 


Samuel Ferret.” 


50 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


What could this mean ? Spite of Mr. Ferret’s injunction, 1 
could not help informing the sisters, who called soon after I re- 
ceived the note, that a discovery, esteemed of importance by our 
emissary, had been made ; and they returned home with light- 
ened hearts, after agreeing to repeat their visit on the day Mr. 
Ferret had named for his return. 

On reaching my chambers about four o’clock in the afternoon 
of that day, I found the ladies there, and in a state of great ex- 
citement. Mr. Ferret, my clerk had informed them, had called 
twice, and seemed in the highest spirits. We had wasted but a 
few minutes in conjectures when Mr. Ferret, having ascended 
the stairs two or three at a time, burst, sans ceremonie^ into the 
apartment. 

“ Good-day, sir. Lady Compton, your most obedient 
servant ; madam, yours ! All right ! Only just in time to get 
the writ sealed ; served it myself a quarter of an hour ago, just 
as his lordship was getting into his carriage. Not a day to lose ; 
just in time. Capital ! Glorious !” 

“ What do you mean, Mr. Ferret.^” exclaimed Emily Dais- 
ton : her sister was too agitated to speak. 

“ What do I mean } Let us all four step, sir, into your inner 
sanctum, and I’ll soon tell you what I mean.” 

We adjourned, accordingly, co an inner and more private 
room. Our conference lasted about half an hour, at the end of 
which the ladies took their leave : Lady Compton, her beautiful 
features alternately irradiated and clouded by smiles and tears, 
murmuring in a broken, agitated voice, as she shook hands with 
me, “ You see, sir, he intended at last to do us justice.” 

The news that an action had been brought on behalf of an 
infant son of the late Sir Harry Compton against the Earl of 
Emsdale, for the recovery of the estates in the possession of that 


THE CONTESTED MiRRIAOE. 


61 


nobleman, produced the greatest excitement in the part of the 
county where the property was situated. The assize town was 
crowded, on the day the trial was expected to come on, by the 
tenantry of the late baronet and their families, with whom the 
present landlord was by no means popular. As I passed up the 
principal street, towards the court-house, accompanied by my 
junior, I was received with loud hurraings and waving of hand- 
kerchiefs, something after the manner, I suppose, in which 
chivalrous steel-clad knights, about to do battle in behalf of 
distressed damsels, were formerly received by the miscellaneous 
spectators of the lists. Numerous favors, cockades, streamers, 
of the Compton colors, used in election contests, purple and 
orange, were also slyly exhibited, to be more ostentatiously dis- 
played if the Emsdale party should be beaten. On entering the 
court, I found it crowded, as we say, to the ceiling. Not only 
every seat, but every inch of standing-room that could be ob- 
tained, was occupied, and it was with great difficulty the ushers 
of the court preserved a sufficiently clear space for the ingress 
and egress of witnesses and counsel. Lord Emsdale, pale and 
anxious, spite of manifest effort to appear contemptuously in 
different, sat near the judge, who had just entered the court. 
The Archbishop of York, whom we had subpoenaed, why, his 
Crrace had openly declared, he knew not, was also of course ac- 
commodated with a seat on the bench. A formidable bar, led 

by the celebrated Mr. S , was, I saw, arrayed against us, 

though what the case was they had to meet, so well had Ferret 
kept his secret, they knew no more than did their horse-hair 
wigs. Ferret had solemnly enjoined the sisters to silence, and 
no hint, I need scarcely say, was likely to escape my lips. The 
jury, special of course, were in attendance, and the case, “ Doe, 
demise of Compton versus Emsdale,” having been called, they 


52 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


were duly sworn to try the issue. My junior, Mr. Frampton, 
was just rising “ to state the case,” as it is technically called, 
when a tremendous shouting, rapidly increasing in volume and 
distinctness, and mingled with the sound of carriage wheels, was 
heard approaching, and presently Mr. Samuel Ferret appeared, 
followed by Lady Compton and her son, the rear of the party 
brought up by Sir Jasper Thornely, whose jolly fox-hunting 
face shone like a full-blown -peony. The lady, though painfully 
agitated, looked charmingly ; and the timid, appealing glance 
she unconsciously, as it were, threw round the court, would, in 
a doubthil case, have secured a verdict. “ Very well got up, 

indeed,” said Mr. S , in a voice sufficiently loud for the 

jury to hear — “very effectively managed, upon my word.” 
We were, however, in too good-humor to heed taunts ; and as 
soon as silence was restored, Mr. Frampton briefly stated the 
case, and I rose to address the jury. My speech was purposely; 
brief, business-like, and confident. I detailed the circumstances 
of the marriage of Violet Dalston, then only eighteen years of 
age, with a Mr. Grainger ; the birth of a son ; and subsequent 
disappearance of the husband ; concluding by an assurance to 
the jury that I should prove, by incontrovertible evidence, that 
Grainger was no other person than the late Sir Harry Compton, 
baronet. This address by no means lessened the vague appre- 
hensions of the other side. A counsel that, with such materials 
for eloquence, disdained having recourse to it, must needs have 

a formidable case. The smiling countenances of Mr. S and 

his brethren became suddenly overcast, and the pallor and agita- 
tion of Lord Emsdale sensibly increased. 

We proved our case clearly, step by step : the marriage, the 
accouchement, the handwriting of Grainger — Bilston proved 
this — to the letters addressed to his wife, were clearly estab- 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


53 


(ished. The register of the marriage was produced by the 
present clerk of the Leeds church ; the initials Z. Z. were 
pointed out ; and at my suggestion the book was deposited for 
the purposes of the trial with the clerk of the court. Not a 
word of cross-examination had passed the lips of our learned 
friends on the other side : they allowed our evidence to pass as 
utterly indifferent. A change was at hand. 

Our next witness was James Kirby, groom to the late baronet 
and to the present earl. After a few unimportant questions, I 
asked him if he had ever seen that gentleman before, pointing 
to Mr. Ferret, who stood up for the more facile recognition of 
his friend Kirby. 

“ Oh yes, he rememberea the gentleman well ; and a very 
nice, good-natured, soft sort of a gentleman he was. He 
treated witness at the “ Albemarle Arms,” London, to as much 
brandy and water as he liked, out of respect to his late master, 
whom the gentleman seemed uncommon fond of.” 

“ Well, and what return did you make for so much lib- 
erality .?” 

“ Return ! very little I do assure ye. I told un how many 
horses Sir Harry kept, and how many races he won •, but I 
couldn’t tell un much more, pump as much as he would, 
because, do ye see, I didn’t know no more.” 

An audible titter from the other side greeted the witness as 
he uttered the last sentence. Mr. S , with one of his com- 

placent glances at the jury-box, remarking in a sufficiently loud 
whisper, ‘‘ That he had never heal’d a more conclusive reason 
for not telling in his life.” 

“ l)id \ou montioii that yc .i WoTo p esent at the death of the 
late baronet 

Yes I did, 1 told un that I were within about three bund- 


54 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


red yards of late master when he had that ugly fall ; and that 
when I got up to un, he sort of pulfed me down, and whispered 
hoarse-like, ‘ Send for Reverend Zachariah Zimmerman.’ I 
remembered it, it was sich an outlandish name like.” 

“ Oh, oh,” thought I, as Mr. S reached across the table 

for the parish register, “ Z. Z. is acquiring significance I 
perceive.” 

“ Well, and what did this gentleman say to that 

‘‘ Say ? Why, nothing particular, only seemed quite joyful 
’mazed like ; and when I asked un why, he said it was such a 
comfort to find his good friend Sir Harry had such pious 
thoughts in his last moments.” 

The laugh, quickly suppressed, that followed these words, did 
not come from our learned friends on the other side. 

Sir Harry used those words ?” 

“ He did ; but as he died two or three minutes after, it were 
of course no use to send for no parson whatsomever.” 

Exactly. That will do, unless the other side have any 
questions to ask.” No question was put, and the witness went 
down. “ Call,” said I to the crier of the court — “ call the 
Reverend Zachariah Zimmerman.” 

This was a bomb-shell. Lord Emsdale, the better to conceal 
his agitation, descended from the bench and took his seat beside 
his counsel. The Reverend Zachariah Zimmerman, examined 
by Mr. Frampton, deponed in substance as follows : — “ He was 
at present rector of Dunby, Shropshire, and had been in holy 
orders more than twenty years. Was on a visit to the Reverend 
Mr. Cramby at Leeds seven years ago, when one morning Mr. 
Cramby, being much indisposed, requested him to perform the 
marriage ceremony for a young couple then waiting in church. 
He complied, and joined in wedlock Violet Ralston and Henry 


t ti E CONTESTED MARRIAOE. 


55 


Grainger. The bride was the lady now pointed out to him in 
court ; the bridegroom he had discovered, about two years ago, 
to be no other than the late Sir Harry Compton, baronet. The 
initials Z. Z. were his, and written by him. The parish clerk, 
a failing old man, had not officiated at the marriage ; a nephew, 
he believed, had acted for him, but he had entered the marriage 
in the usual form afterwards.” 

“ How did you ascertain that Henry Grainger was the late 
Sir Harry Compton 

“ I was introduced to Sir Harry Compton in London, at the 
house of the Archbishop of York, by his Grace himself.” 

“ I remember the incident distinctly, Mr. Zimmerman,” said 
his Grace from the bench. 

‘‘ Besides which,” added the rector, my present living was 
presented to me, about eighteen months since, by the deceased 
baronet. I must further, in justice to myself, explain that I 
immediately after the introduction, sought an elucidation of the 
mystery from Sir Harry ; and he then told me that, in a freak 
of youthful passion, he had married Miss Dalston in the name 
of Grainger, fearing his uncle’s displeasure should it reach his 
ears ; that his wife had died in her first confinement, after 
[ giving birth to a still-born child, and he now wished the matter 

[ to remain in oblivion. He also showed me several letters, 

! which I then believed genuine, confirming his story. I heard 

[ no more of the matter till waited upon by the attorney for the 

i plaintiff, Mr. Ferret.” 

^ A breathless silence prevailed during the delivery of this 

1 evidence. At its conclusion, the dullest brain in court compre- 
hended that the cause was gained ; and a succession of cheers, 
which could not be suppressed, rang through the court, and were 
; loudly eclioed from without. Sir Jasper’s voice sounding high 

1 


56 


tHE CONtESTEE MARRIAGE. 


above all the rest. Suddenly, too, as if by magic, almost every- 
body in court, save the jury and counsel, were decorated with 
orange and purple favors, and a perfect shower of them fell at 
the feet and about the persons of Lady Compton, her sister, 
who had by this time joined her, and the infant Sir Henry. As 
soon as the expostulations and menaces of the judge had re- 
stored silence and order, his lordship, addressing Lord Ems- 

dale’s senior counsel, said, “ Well, Brother S , what course 

do you propose to adopt 

“ My lord,” replied Mr. S after a pause, ‘‘ I and my 

learned friends have thought it our duty to advise Lord Ems- 
dale that further opposition to the plaintiff’s claim would prove 
ultimately futile ; and I have therefore to announce, my lord 
and gentlemen of the jury, that we acquiesce in a verdict for the 
plaintiff.” 

“ You have counseled wisely,” replied his lordship. “ Gen- 
tlemen of the jury, you will of course return a verdict for the 
plaintiff.” 

The jury hastily and joyfully assented : the verdict was 
recorded, and the court adjourned for an hour in the midst of 
tumultuous excitement. The result of the trial flew through 
the crowd outside like wildflre ; and when Lady Compton and 
her son, after struggling through the densely-crowded court, 
stepped into Sir Jasper’s carriage, which was in waiting at the 
door, the enthusiastic uproar that ensued — the hurraing, shout- 
ing, waving of hats and handkerchiefs — deafened and bewildered 
one ; and it vas upwards of an hour ere the slow-moving chariot 
reached Sir Jasper’s mansion, though not more than half a mile 
distant from the town. Mr. Ferret, mounted on the box, and 
almost smothered in purple and orange, was a conspicuous 
'ibject, and a prime favorite with the crowd. The next day 


THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 


5 ^ 


Lord Emsdale, glad, doubtless, to quit the neighborhood as 
speedily as possible, left the castle, giving Lady Compton im- 
mediate possession. The joy of the tenantry was unbounded , 
and under the wakeful superintendence of Mr. Ferret, all 
claims against Lord Emsdale for received rents, dilapidations, 
&c. were adjusted, we may be sure, not adversely to his client’s 
interests ; though he frequently complained, not half so satis 
factorily as if Lady Compton had not interfered, with what Mr. 
Ferret deemed misplaced generosity in the matter. 

As I was obliged to proceed onwards with the circuit, I called 
at Compton Castle to take leave of my interesting and fortunate 
client a few days after her installation there. I was most 
gratefully received and entertained. As I shook hands at part- 
ing, her ladyship, after pressing upon me a diamond ring of 
great value, said, whilst her charming eyes filled with regretful, 
yet joyful tears, “ Do not forget that poor Henry intended at 
last to do us justice.” Prosperity, thought I, will not spoil 
that woman. It has not, as the world, were I authorized to 
communicate her real name, would readily acknowledge. 


THE MOTHER AND SON. 

Dinner had been over about half an hour one Sunday afternoon 
— the only day on which for years I had been able to enjoy a 
dinner — and I was leisurely sipping a glass of wine, when a 
carriage drove rapidly up to the door, a loud rat-tat followed, 
and my friend Dr. Curteis, to my great surprise, was announced. 

“ I have called,” said the doctor as we shook hands, “ ask 
you to accompany me to Mount Place. I have just received a 
hurried note from Miss Armitage, stating that her mother, aftei 
a very brief illness, is rapidly sinking, and requesting my at- 
tendance, as well as that of a legal gentleman, immediately.” 

‘‘ Mrs. Armitage !” I exclaimed, inexpressibly shocked. 

Why, it is scarcely more than a fortnight ago that I met 
her at the Rochfords’ in brilliant health and spirits.” 

“ Even so. But will you accompany me ? I don’t know 
where to find any one else for the moment, and time presses.” 

“ It is an attorney, probably, rather than a barrister, that b 
needed ; but under the circumstances, and knowing her as I do, 
I cannot hesitate.” 

We were soon howling along at a rapid pace, and in little 
more than an hour reached the dying lady’s residence, situated 
in the county of Essex, and distant about ten miles from London. 
We entered together ; and Dr. Curteis, leaving me in the lihrai y, 
proceeded at once to the sick chamber. About ten minutes 
afterwards the housekeeper, a tall, foreign-looking, and rather 


THE MOTHER AND SON. 


69 


handsome woman, came into the room, and announced that the 
doctor wished to see me. She was deadly pale, and, I observed, 
trembled like an aspen. I motioned her to precede me ; and 
she, with unsteady steps, immediately led the way. So great 
was her agitation, that twice, in ascending the stairs, she only 
saved herself from falling by grasping the banister-rail. The 
presage I drew from the exhibition of such overpowering emo- 
tion, by a person whom I knew to have been long not only in 
the service, but in the confidence of Mrs. Armitage, was soon 
confirmed by Dr. Curteis, whom we met coming out of the 
chamber of the expiring patient. 

“ Step this way,” said he, addressing me, and leading to an 
adjoining apartment. “We do not require your attendance, 
Mrs. Bourdon,” said he, as soon as we reached it, to the house- 
keeper, who had swiftly followed us, and now stood staring with 
eager eyes in the doctor’s face, as if' life and death hung on his 
lips. “ Have the goodness to leave us,” he added tartly, per- 
ceiving she did not stir, but continued her fearful, scrutinizing 
glance. She started at his altered tone, flushed crimson, then 
paled to a chalky whiteness, and muttering, left the apartment. 

“ The danger of her mistress has bewildered her,” I re- 
marked. 

“ Perhaps so,” remarked Dr. Curteis. “ Be that as it may, 
Mrs. Armitage is beyond all human help. In another hour she 
will be, as we say, no more.” 

“ I feared so. What is the nature of her disorder .?” 

“ A rapid wasting away, as I am informed. The appearances 
presented are those of a person expiring of atrophy, or extreme 
emaciation.” 

“ Indeed. And so sudden too !” 

“ Yes. I am glad you are come, although your professional 


60 


THE MOTHER AND SON. 


services will not, ii seems, be required — a neighboring attorney 
having performed the necessary duty — something, I believe, 
relative to the will of the dying lady. We will speak further 
together by and by. In the meantime,” continued Dr. Curteis, 
with a perceptible tremor in his voice, “ it will do neither of us 
any harm to witness the closing scene of the life of Mary Raw- 
don, whom you and I twenty years ago worshipped as one of the 
gentlest and most beautiful of beings with which the Creator ever 
graced his universe. It will be a peaceful parting. Come.” 

Just as, with noiseless footsteps, we entered the silent death- 
chamber, the last rays of the setting sun were falling upon the 
figure of Ellen Armitage — who knelt in speechless agony by the 
bedside of her expiring parent — and faintly lighting up the pale, 
emaciated, sunken features of the so lately brilliant, courted 
Mrs. Armitage ! But for the ineffaceable splendor of her deep- 
blue eyes, I should scarcely have recognized her. Standing in 
the shadow, as thrown by the heavy bed-drapery, we gazed and 
listened unperceived. 

“ Ellen,” murmured the dying lady, “ come nearer to me. 
It is growing dark, and I cannot see you plainly. Now, then, 
read to me, beginning at the verse you finished with, as good 
Dr. Curteis entered. Ay,” she faintly whispered, “ it is thus, 
Ellen, with thy hand clasped in mine, and with the words of 
the holy book sounding fj om thy dear lips, that I would pass 
away !” 

Ellen, interrupted only by her Minding tears, making sad 
stops, complied. Twilight stole on, and threw its shadow over 
the solemn scene, deepening its holiness of sorrow. Night came 
with all her train ; and the silver radiance kissed into ethereal 
beauty the pale face of the weeping girl, still pursuing her sad 
and sacred task. We hesitated to disturb, by the slightest move .. 


tHE MOtHER 80N 


61 


mont, the repose of a death-bed over which belief and hope, 
those only potent ministers, shed light and calm I At length 
Dr. Curteis advanced gently towards the bed, and taking the 
daughter’s hand, said in a low voice, “ Had you not better re- 
tire, my dear young lady, for a few moments She understood 
him, and rising from her knees, threw herself in an ecstacy of 
grief upon the corpse, from which the spirit had just passed 
away. Assistance was summoned, and the sobbing girl was 
borne from the chamber. 

I descended, full of emotion, to the library, where Dr. Curteis 
promised shortly to join me. Noiselessly entering the room, I 
came suddenly upon the housekeeper and a tall young man^ 
standing with their backs towards me in the recesses of one of 
the windows, and partly shrouded by the heavy cloth curtains. 
They were evidently in earnest conference, and several words, 
the significance of which did not at the moment strike me, 
reached my ears before they perceived my approach. The 
instant they did so, they turned hastily round, and eyed me 
with an expression of flurried alarm, which at the time surprised 
me not a little. “ All is over, Mrs. Bourdon,” said I, finding 
she did not speak ; ‘‘ and your presence is nrobably needed by 
Miss Armitage.” A flash of intelligence, as I spoke, passed 
between the pair ; but whether indicative of grief or joy, so 
momentary was the glance, I should have been puzzled lo de- 
termine. The housekeeper immediately left the room, keeping 
her eyes, as she passed, flxed upon me with the same nervous 
apprehensive look which had before irritated Dr. Curteis. The 
young man followed more slowly. He was a tall and rather 
handsome youth, apparently about one or two-and-twenty years 
of age. His hair was black as jet, and his dark eyes were of 
singular brilliancy ; but the expression, I thought, was scarcely 


62 


THE MOTHER A N U BON. 


a refined or highly-intellectual one. His resemblance to Mrs. 
Bourdon, whose son indeed he was, was very striking He 
bowed slightly, but courteously, as to an equal, as he closed the 
door, and I was left to the undisturbed enjoyment of my own 
reflections, which, ill-defined and indistinct as they were, were 
anything but pleasant company. My reverie was at length in- 
terrupted by the entrance of the doctor, with the announcement 
that the carriage was in waiting to re-convey us to town. 

We had journeyed several miles on* our return before a word 
was spoken by either of us. My companion was apparently 
even more painfully pre-occupied than myself. He was, how- 
ever, the first to break silence. “ The emaciated corpse we 
have just left little resembles the gay, beautiful girl, for whose 
smiles you and I were once disposed to shoot each other !” 
The doctor’s voice trembled with emotion, and his face, I per- 
ceived, was pale as marble. 

Mary Rawdon,” I remarked, ‘‘ lives again in her daughter.” 

“ Yes ; her very image. Do you know,” continued he, 
speaking with rapid energy, “ I suspect Mary Rawdon — Mrs. 
Armitage, I would say — has been foully, treacherously dealt 
with !” 

I started with amazement ; and yet the announcement but 
embodied and gave form ind color to my own ill-defined and 
shadowy suspicions. 

“ Good heavens ! How } By whom .?” 

“ Unless I am greatly mistaken, she has been poisoned by an 
adept in the use of such destructive agents.” 

“ Mrs. Bourdon .?” 

“ No ; by her son. At least my suspicions point that way. 
She is probably cognizant of the crime. Bui in order that you 
should understand the grounds upon which my conjectures are 


THE MOTHER iND SON 


63 


principally founded, I must enter into a short explanation. Mrs 
Bourdon, a woman of Spanish extraction, and who formerly oc- 
cupied a much higher position than she does now, has lived with 
Mrs. Armitage from the period of her husband’s death, now 
about sixteen years ago. Mrs. Bourdon has a son, a tall, good- 
looking fellow enough, whom you may have seen.” 

“ He was with his mother in the library as I entered it after 
leaving you.” 

“ Ah ! well, hem ! This boy, in his mother’s opinion — but 
that perhaps is somewhat excusable — exhibited early indications 
of having been born a “ genius.” Mrs. Armitage, who had been 
first struck by the beauty of the child, gradually acquired the 
same notion ; and the result was, that he was little by little in-* 
vested — with at least her tacit approval — with the privileges 
supposed to be the lawful inheritance of such gifted spirits ; 
namely, the right to be as idle as he pleased — geniuses, you 
know, can, according to the popular notion, attain any conceiv- 
able amount of knowledge ‘per saltum at a bound — and to exalt 
himself in the stilts of his own conceit above the useful and 
honorable pursuits suited to the station in life in which Provi 
dence had cast his lot. The fruit of such training soon showed 
itself. Young Bourdon grew up a conceited and essentially- 
ignorant puppy, capable of nothing but bad verses, and thor- 
oughly impressed with but one important fact, which was, that 
he, Alfred Bourdon, was the most gifted and the most ill-used 
of all God’s creatures. To genius, in any intelligible sense of 
the term, he has in truth no pretension. He is endowed, how- 
ever, with a kind of reflective talent, which is often mistaken by 
fools for creative power. The morbid fancies and melancholy 
scorn of a Byron, for instance, such gentry reflect back from 
their foggy imaginations in exaggerated and distorted feeblene.ss 


64 


tHE Mother a n 0 soH. 


of whining versicles, and so on with other lights celestial or in- 
fernal. This, however, by the way. The only rational pursuit 
he ever followed, and that only by fits and starts, and to gratify 
his faculty of wonder,” I fancy, was chemistry. A small 
laboratory was fitted up for him in the little summer-house you 
may have observed at the further corner of the lawn. This 
study of his, if study such desultory snatches at science may be 
called, led him, in his examination of vegetable bodies, to a 
smattering acquaintance with botany, a science of which Ellen 
Armitage is an enthusiastic student. They were foolishly per- 
mitted to botanize together, and the result was, that Alfred 
B'ourdon, acting upon the principle that genius — whether sham 
jor real — levels all merely mundane distinctions, had the impu- 
dence to aspire to the hand of Miss Armitage. His passion, 
sincere or simulated, has never been, I have reason to know, in 
the slightest degree reciprocated by its object ; but so blind is 
vanity, that when, about six weeks ago, an edairdssement took 
place, and the fellow’s dream was somewhat rudely dissipated, 
the untoward rejection of his preposterous suit was, there is 
every reason to believe, attributed by both mother and son to 
the repugnance of Mrs. Armitage alone ; and to this idiotic 
hallucination she has, I fear, fallen a sacrifice. Judging from 
the emaciated appearance of the body, and other phenomena 
communicated to me by her ordinary medical attendant — a 
blundering ignoramus, who ought to have called in assistance 
long before — she has been poisoned with iodine.^ which, admin- 
istered in certain quantities, would produce precisely the same 
symptoms. Happily there is no mode of destroying human life 
which so surely leads to the detection of the murderer as the use 
of such agents ; and of this truth the post mortem examination 
of the body, which takes place to-morrow morning, wil*, I am 


THE MOTHER AND «ON. 


65 


not grossly mistaken, supply another vivid illustration. 

Legal assistance will no doubt be necessary, and I am sure I do 
not err in expecting that you will aid me in bringing to justice 
the murderer of Mary Rawdon ?” 

A pressure of his hand was my only answer. “ I shall call 
for you at ten o’clock,” said he, as he put me down at my own 
door. I bowed, and the carriage drove off. 

“ Well said I, as Dr. Curteis and Mr. the eminent 

surgeon entered the library at Mount Place the following morn- 
ing after a long absence. 

‘‘ As I anticipated,” replied the doctor with a choking voice : 
“ she has been poisoned !’’ 

I started to my feet. “ And the murderer .?” 

“ Our suspicions still point to young Bourdon j but the per- 
sons of both mother and son have been secured.” 

“ Apart .?” 

“ Yes ; and I have despatched a servant to request the 
presence of a neighbor — a county magistrate. I expect him 
momently.” 

After a brief consultation, we all three directed our steps to 
the summer-house which contained young Bourdon’s laboratory. 
In the room itself nothing of importance was discovered ; but in 
an enclosed recess, which we broke open, we found a curiously- 
fashioned glass bottle half full of iodine. 

“ This is it !” said Mr. ; “ and in a powdered state too — 

just ready for mixing with brandy or any other available dissolv- 
ent.” The powder had somewhat the appearance of fine black 
lead. Nothing further of any consequence being observed, we 
returned to the house, where the magistrate had already arrived. 

Alfred Bourdon was first brought in ; and he having been 
duly cautioned that he was not obliged to answer any question. 


66 


THE MOTHER AND SON. 


and that what he did say would be taken down, and, if neces- 
sary, used against him, I proposed the following questions 

“ Have you the key of youi* laboratory ?” 

“ No ; the door is always open.” 

“ Well, then, of any door or cupboard in the room 

At this question his face flushed purple : he stammered, 
“ There is no” and abrubtly paused. 

‘‘ Do I understand you to say there is no cupboard or place 
of concealment in the room 

“ No : here is the key.” 

“ Has any one had access to the cupboard or recess of which 
this is the key, except yourself.?” 

The young man shook as if smitten with ague : his lips chat- 
tered, but no articulate sound escaped them. 

“ You need not answer the question,” said the magistrate, 
unless you choose to do so. I again warn you that all you 
say will, if necessary, be used against you.” 

“ No one,” he at length gasped, mastering his hesitation by a 
strong exertion of the will — “ no one co.n have had access to the 
place but myself. I have never parted with the key.” 

Mrs. Botirdon was now called in. After interchanging a 
glance of intense agony, and, as it seemed to me, of affectionate 
intelligence with her son, she calmly answered the questions put 
to her. They were unimportant, except the last, and that acted 
upon her like a galvanic shock. It was this — “ Did you ever 
struggle with your son on the landing leading to the bedroom 
of the deceased for the possession of this bottle .?” and I held 
up that which we had found in the recess. 

A slight scream escaped her lips ; and then she stood rigid, 
erect, motionless, glaring alternately at me and at the fatal 
bottle with eyes that seemed starting from their sockets. I 


THE MOTHER AND SON. 


67 


glanced towards the son ; he was also affected in a terrible 
manner. Kis knees smote each other, and a clammy perspira- 
tion burst foi th and settled upon his pallid forehead. 

“ Again 1 caution you,” iterated the magistrate, “ that you 
are not bound to answer any of these questions.” 

The woman’s lips moved. “ No — never !” she almost in- 
audibly gasped, and fell senseless on the floor. 

As soon as she was removed, Jane Withers was called. She 
deposed that three days previously, as she was, just before dusk, 
arranging some linen in a room a few yards distant from the 
bedroom of her late mistress, she was surprised at hearing a 
noise just outside the door, as of persons struggling and speaking 
in low but earnest tones. She drew aside a corner of the muslin 
curtain of the window which locked upon the passage or corridor, 
and there saw Mrs. Bourdon striving to wrest something Vom 
her son’s hand. She heard Mrs. Bourdon say, ‘‘ You shall not 
do it, or you shall not have it” — she could not be sure which. 
A noise of some sort seemed to alarm them : they ceased strug- 
gling, and listened attentively for a few seconds : then Alfred 
Bourdon stole off on tip-toe, leaving the object in dispute, which 
witness could not see distinctly, in his mother’s hand. Mrs. 
Bourdon continued to listen, and presently Miss Armitage, open- 
ing the door of her mother’s chamber, called her by name. She 
immediately placed what was in her hand on the marble top of 
a side-table standing in the corridor, and hastened to Miss 
Armitage. Witness left the room she had been in a few minutes 
afterwards, and, curious to know what Mrs. Bourdon and her 
son had been struggling for, went to the table to look at it. It 
was an oddly-shaped glass bottle, containing a good deal of a 
blackish-gray powder, which, as she held it up to the light, 
looked like black-lead !” 


68 


THE >I 0 T H E R A N I> SON. 


‘‘ Would you be able to swear to the bottle if you saw it 

“ Certainly I should.” 

By what mark or token 

“ The name of Yalpy or Yulpy was cast into it — that is, the 
name was in the glass itself.” 

“ Is this it .?” 

It is : I swear most positively.” 

A letter was also read which had been taken from Bourdon’s 
pocket. It was much creased, and was proved to be in the 
handwriting of Mrs. Armitage. It consisted of a severe rebuke 
at the young man’s presumption in seeking to address himself 
to her daughter, which insolent ingratitude, the writer said, she 
should never, whilst ehe lived, either forget or forgive. This 
last sentence was stiongly underlined in a different ink from that 
used by the writer of the letter. 

The surgeon deposed to the cause of death. It had been 
brought on by the action of iodine, which, administered in cer- 
tain quantities, produced symptoms as of rapid atrophy, such as 
had appeared in Mrs. Armitage. The glass bottle found in the 
recess contained iodine in a pulverized state. 

I deposed that, on entering the library on the previous even- 
ing, I. overheard young Mr. Bourdon, addressing his mother, 
say, “Now that it is done past recall, I will not shrink from 
any consequences, be they what they may !” 

This was the substance of the evidence adduced ; and the 
magistrate at once committed Alfred Bourdon to Chelmsford 
jail, to take his trial at the next assize for “ wilful murder.” A 
coroner’s inquisition a few days after also returned, a verdict of 
“ wUftil murder” against him on the same evidence. 

About an hour after his committal, and just previous to the 
arrival of the vehicle which was to convey him to the county 


THE MOTHER AND SOH. 


69 


prison, Alfred Bourdon requested an interview with me. I very 
reluetantly consented ; but steeled as I was against him, I could 
not avoid feeling dreadfully shocked at the change which so brief 
an interval had wrought upon him. It had done the work of 
years. Despair — black, utter despair — was written in every 
lineament of his expressive countenance. 

“ I have requested to see you,” said the unhappy culprit, 
“ rather than Dr. Curteis, because he, I know, is bitterly preju- 
diced against me. But you will not refuse, I think, the solemn 
request of a dying man — ^for a dying man I feel myself to he — 
however long or short the interval which stands between me and 
the scaffold. It is not with a childish hope that any assertion 
of mine can avail before the tribunal of the law against the evi- 
dence adduced this day, that I, with all the solemnity befitting 
a man whose days are numbered, declare to you that I am 
wholly innocent of the crime laid to my charge. I have no 
such expectation ; I seek only that you, in pity of my youth 
and untimely fate, bhould convey to her whom I have madly 
presumed to worship this message : ‘ Alfred Bourdon was mad, 
but not blood-guilty ; and of the crime laid to his charge he is 
innocent as an unborn child ’ ” 

“ The pure and holy passion, young man,” said I, somewhat 
startled by his impressive manner, “ however presumptuous, as 
far as social considerations are concerned, it might be, by which 
you affect to he inspired, is utterly inconsistent with the cruel, 
dastardly crime of which such damning evidence has an hour 
since been given” 

“ Say no more, sir,” interrupted Bourdon, sinking back in his 
seat, and burying his face in his hands : “ it were a bootless 
errand ; she could not, in the face of that evidence, believe my 
unsupported assertion ! It were as well perhaps she did not 


70 


THE MOTHER AND SON. 


And yet, sir, it is hard to be trampled into a felon’s grave, 
loaded with the maledictions of those whom you would coin your 
heart to serve and bless ! Ah, sir,” he continued, whilst tears 
of agony streamed through his firmly-closed fingers, “ you cannot 
conceive the unutterable bitterness of the pang which rends the 
heart of him who feels that he is not only despised, but loathed, 
hated, execrated, by her whom his soul idolizes ! Mine was no 
boyish, transient passion : it has grown with my growth, and 
strengthened with my strength. My life has been but one long 
dream of her. All that my soul had drunk in of beauty in the 
visible earth and heavens — the light of setting suns — the radi- 
ance of the silver stars — the breath of summer flowers, together 
with all which we imagine of celestial purity and grace, seemed 
to me in her incarnated, concentrated, and combined ! And 
now lost — lost — forever lost !” The violence of his emotions 
choked his utterance ; and deeply and painfully affected, I has- 
tened from his presence. 

Time sped as ever onwards, surely, silently ; and justice, 
with her feet of lead, buj; hands of iron, closed gradually upon 
her quarry. Alfred Bourdon was arraigned before a jury of his 
countrymen, to answer finally to the accusation of wilful murder 
preferred against him. 

The evidence, as given before the committing magistrate, and 
the coroner’s inquisition, was repeated with some addition of 
passionate expressions used by the prisoner indicative of a desire 
to be avenged on the deceased. The cross-examination by the 
counsel for the defence was able, but failed to shake the case for 
the prosecution. His own admission, that no one but himself 
had access to- the recess where the poison was found, told fatally 
against him. When called upon to address the jury, he delivered 
himself of a speech rather than a defence ; of an oratorical effii' 


THE MOTHER AND SON. 


71 


uion, instead of a vigorous, and, if possible, damaging comment- 
ary upon the evidence arrayed against him. It was a labored, 
and in part eloquent, exposition of the necessary fallibility of 
human judgment, illustrated by numerous examples of erroneous 
verdicts. His peroration I jotted down at the time : — “ Thus, 
my lord and gentlemen of the jury, is it abundantly manifest, 
not only by these examples, but by the testimony which every 
man bears in his own breast, that God could not have willed, 
could not have commanded, his creatures to perform a pretended 
duty, which he vouchsafed them no power to perform righteously. 
Oh, be sure that if he had intended, if he had commanded you 
to pronounce irreversible decrees upon your fellow-man, quench- 
ing that life which is his highest gift, he would have endowed 
vou with gifts to perform that duty rightly . Has he done so ? 
Ask not alone the pages dripping with innocent blood which I 
have quoted, but your own hearts ! Are you, according to the 
promise of the serpent-tempter, ‘ gods, knowing good from evil P 
of such clear omniscience, that you can hurl an unprepared soul 
before the tribunal of its Maker, in the full assurance that you 
have rightly loosed the silver cord which he had measured, have 
justly broken the golden bowl which he had fashioned ! Oh, 
my lord,” he concluded, his dark eyes flashing with excitement, 
‘‘ it is possible that the first announcement of my innocence of 
this crime, to which you will give credence, may be proclaimed 
from the awful tribunal of him who alone cannot err ! How if 
he, whose eye is even now upon us, should then proclaim, ‘ /, 
too, sat in judgment on the day when you presumed to doom 
your fellow- worm ; and I saw that the murderer was not in the 
dock, but on the bench !’ Oh, my lord, think well of what you 
do — pause ere you incur such fearful hazard ; for be assured, 
that for all these things God will also bring you to iudgment !” 


72 


THE M 0 T H E AND SON. 


He ceased, and sank back exhausted. His fervid declamation 
produced a considerable impression upon the auditory ; but it 
soon disappeared before the calm, impressive charge of the judge, 
who re-assured the startled jury, by reminding them that their 
duty was to honestly execute the law, not to dispute about its 
justice. For himself, he said, sustained by a pure conscience, 
he was quite willing to incur the hazard hinted at by the pris 
oner. After a careful and luminous summing up, the jury, with 
very slight deliberation, returned a verdict of “ Guilty.” 

As the word passed the lips of the foreman of the jury, a 
piercing shriek rang through the court. It proceeded from a 
tall figure in black, who, with closely-drawn veil, had sat motion- 
less during the trial, just before the dock. It was the prisoner’s 
mother. The next instant she rose, and throwing back her veil 
wildly exclaimed, “ He is innocent — innocent, I tell ye ! I 
alone” 

“Mother! mother! for the love of Heaven be silent!” 
shouted the prisoner with frantic vehemence, and stretching 
himself over the front of the dock, as if to grasp and restrain 
her. 

“ Innocent, I tell you !” continued the woman. “ I — I alone 
am the guilty person ! It was I alone that perpetrated the 
deed ! He knew it not, suspected it not, till it was too late. 
Here,” she added, drawing a sheet of paper from her bosom — 
“ here is my confession, with each circumstance detailed !” 

As she waved it over her head, it was snatched by her son, 
and, swift as lightning, torn to shreds. “ She is mad ! Heed 
her not — believe her not !” He at the same time shouted at 
the top of his powerful voice, “ She is distracted — mad ! Now, 
my lord, your sentence ! Come !” 

The tumult and excitement in the court no language which T 


THE MOTHER AND SON. 


73 


can employ would convey an adequate impression of. As soon 
as calm was partially restored, Mrs. Bourdon was taken into 
custody : the prisoner was removed ; and the court adjourned, 
of course without passing sentence. 

It was even as his mother said ! Subsequent investigation, 
aided by her confessions, amply proved that the fearful crime 
was conceived and perpetrated by her alone, in the frantic hope 
of securing for her idolized son the hand and fortune of MisS 
Armitage. She had often been present with him in his labora- 
tory, and had thus become acquainted with the uses to which 
certain agents could be put. She had purloined the key of the 
recess ; and he, unfortunately too late to prevent the perpetra- 
tion of the crime, had by mere accident discovered the abstrac- 
tion of the poison. His subsoquent declarations had been made 
for the determined purpose of saving his mother’s life by the 
sacrifice of his own ! 

The wretched woman was not reserved to fall before the 
justice of her country. The hand of God smote her ere the 
scaffold was prepared for her. She was smitten with frenzy, 
and died raving in the Metropolitan Lunatic Asylum. Alfred 
Bourdon, after a lengthened imprisonment, was liberated. He 
called on me, by appointment, a few days previous to leaving 
this country forever ; and I placed in his hands a small pocket- 
Bible, on the fly-leaf of which was written one word — Ellen 
His dim eye lighted up with something of its old fire as he 
glanced at the characters ; he then closed the book, placed it 
in his bosom, and waving me a mute farewell — I saw he durst 
not trust hincself to speak— hastily departed. I never saw him 
more ! 


“THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS.” 


In the month of February of the year following that which 
witnessed the successful establishment of the claim of Sir Harry 
Compton’s infant son to his magnificent patrimony, Mr. Samuel 
Ferret was traveling post with all the speed he could command 
towards Lancashire, in compliance with a summons from Lady 
Compton, requesting, in urgent terms, his immediate presence 
at the castle. It was wild and bitter weather, and the roads 
were in many places rendered dangerous, and almost impassable, 
by the drifting snow. Mr. Ferret, however, pressed onwards 
with his habitual energy and perseverance ; and, spite of all 
elemental and postboy opposition, succeeded in accomplishing 
his journey in much less time than, under the circumstances, 
could have been reasonably expected. But swiftly as, for those 
slow times, he pushed on, it is necessary I should anticipate, by 
a brief period, his arrival at his destination, in order to put the 
reader in possession of the circumstances which had occasioned 
the hurried and pressing message he had received. 

Two days before, as Lady Compton and her sister, who had 
been paying a visit to Mrs. Arlington at the Grange, were 
returning home towards nine o’clock in the evening, they ob- 
served, as the carriage turned a sharp angle of the road leading 
through Compton Park, a considerable number of lighted lan- 
terns borne hurriedly to and fro in various directions, by persons 
apparently in eager but bewildered pursuit of some missing 


75 


“the writ of habeas corpus.” 


object. The carriage was stopped, and in answer to the ser- 
vants’ inquiries, it was replied that Major Brandon’s crazy niece 
had escaped from her uncle’s house j and although traced by the 
snow-tracks as far as the entrance to the park, had not yet been 
recovered. Mrs. Brandon had offered a reward of ten pounds 
to whoever should secure and reconduct her home ; hence the 
hot pursuit of the fugitive, who, it was now supposed, must be 
concealed in the shrubberies. Rumors regarding this unfor- 
tunate young lady, by no means favorable to the character of 
her relatives as persons of humanity, had previously reached 
Lady Compton’s ears ; and she determined to avail herself, if 
possible, of the present opportunity to obtain a personal inter- 
view with the real or supposed lunatic. The men who had been 
questioned were informed that only the castle servants could be 
allowed to search for the missing person, either in the park or 
shrubberies ; and that if there, she would be taken care of, and 
restored to her friends in the morning. The coachman was 
then ordered to drive on ; but the wheels had not made half-a- 
dozen revolutions, when a loud shout at some distance, in the 
direction of the park, followed by a succession of piercing 
screams, announced the discovery and capture of the object of 
the chase. The horses were urged rapidly forward ; and ere 
more than a minute had elapsed, the carriage drew up within a 
few yards of the hunted girl and her captors. The instant it 
stopped, Clara Brandon, liberating herself by a frenzied effort 
from the rude grasp in which she was held by an athletic young 
man, sprang wildly towards it, and with passionate intreat} 
implored mercy and protection. The young man, a son of Mrs, 
Brandon’s by a former husband, immediately re-seized her ; and 
with fierce violence endeavored to wrench her hand from the 
handle of the carriage-door, which she clutched with desperate 


76 


THE WRIT or HABEAS CORPUS 


>7 


ti 


tenacity. The door flew open, the sudden jerk disengaged her 
hold, and she struggled vainly in her captor’s powerful grasp 
‘‘Save me! save me!” she frantically exclaimed, as she felt 
herself borne off. “ You who are, they say, as kind and good 
as you are beautiful and happy, save me from this cruel man !” 

Lady Compton, inexpressibly shocked by the piteous spec- 
tacle presented by the unhappy girl — ^her scanty clothing soiled, 
disarrayed, and torn by the violence of her struggles ; her long 
flaxen tresses flowing disorderly over her face and neck in 
tangled dishevelment ; and the pale, haggard, wild expression 
of her countenance — was for a few moments incapable of speech. 
Her sister was more collected : “ Violet,” she instantly remon- 
strated, “ do not permit this brutal violence.” 

“ What right has she or any one to interfere with us 
demanded the young man savagely. “ This girl is Major Bran- 
don’s ward, as well as niece, and shall return to her lawful 
home ! Stand back,” continued he, addressing the servants, 
who, at a gesture from Miss Dalston, barred his progress. 
“ Withstand me at your peril !” 

“ Force her from him !” exclaimed Lady Compton, recover- 
ing her voice. “ Gently ! gently ! I will be answerable for her 
safe custody till the morning.” 

The athletic fellow struggled desperately ; but however pow- 
erful and determined, he was only one man against a score, 
nearly all the bystanders being tenants or laborers on the Comp- 
ton estates ; and spite of his furious efforts, and menances of 
law and vengeance, Clara was torn from him in a twinkling, and 
himself hurled with some violence prostrate on the road “ Do 
not let them hurt the man,” said Lady Compton, as the servants 
placed the insensible girl in the carriage (she had fainted) ; 
“ and tell him that if he has really any legal claim to the 


THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS. 


77 


ti 




custody of this unfortunate person, he must prefer it in the 
morning,” 

Immediately on arrival at the castle, the escaped prisoner was 
conveyed to bed, and medical aid instantly summoned. When 
restored to consciousness, whether from the effect of an excess 
of fever producing temporary delirium, or from confirmed men- 
tal disease, her speech was altogether wild and incoherent — the 
only at all consistent portions of her ravings being piteously-iter- 
ated appeals to Lady Compton not to surrender her to her aunt 
in-law, Mrs. Brandon, of whom she seemed to entertain an 
overpowering, indefinable dread. It was evident she had been 
subjected to extremely brutal treatment — such as, in these days 
of improved legislation in such matters, and greatly advanced 
knowledge of the origin and remedy of cerebral infirmity, would 
not be permitted towards the meanest human being, much less 
a tenderly-nurtured, delicate female. At length, under the 
influence of a composing draught, she sank gradually to sleep ; 
and Lady Compton having determined to rescue her, if possible, 
from the suspicious custody of her relatives, and naturally ap- 
prehensive of the legal difficulties which she could not doubt 
would impede the execution of her generous, if somewhat Quix- 
otic project, resolved on at once sending off an express for Mr. 
Ferret, on whose acumen and zeal she knew she could place the 
fullest reliance. 

Clara Brandon’s simple history may be briefly summed up. 
She was the only child of a Mr. Frederick Brandon, who, a 
widower in the second year of his marriage, had since prin- 
cipally resided at the “ Elms,” a handsome mansion and 
grDunds which he had leased of the uncle of the late Sir Harry 
Compton. At his decease, which occurred about two years pre- 
vious to poor Clara’s escape from confinement, as just narrated, 


78 


THE WRIT CF HABEAS CORPUS. 


(( 


» 


he bequeathed his entire fortune, between two and three thou- 
sand pounds per annum, chiefly secured on land, to his daughter ; 
appointed his elder brother. Major Brandon, sole executor of 
his will, and guardian of his child ; and in the event of her 
dying before she had attained her majority — of which she 
wanted, at her father’s death, upwards of three years — or 
without lawful issue, the property was to go to the major, to be 
by him willed at his pleasure. Major Brandon, whose physical 
and mental energies had been prematurely broken down — he 
was only in his flfty-second year — either by excess or hard 
service in the East, perhaps both, had married late in life the 
widow of a brother officer, and the mother of a grown-up son. 
The lady, a woman of inflexible will, considerable remains of a 
somewhat masculine beauty, and about ten years her husband’s 
junior, held him in a state of thorough pupilage ; and, un- 
checked by him, devoted all her energies to bring about, by fair 
or foul means, a union between Clara and her own son, a cub 
of some two or three-and-twenty years of age, whose sole object 
in seconding his mother’s views upon Clara was the acquisition 
of her wealth. According to popular surmise and report, the 
young lady’s mental infirmity had been brought about by the 
persecutions she had endured at the hands of Mrs. Brandon, 
with a view to force her into a marriage she detested. The 
most reliable authority for the truth of these rumors was Susan 
Hopley, now in the service of Lady Compton, but who had lived 
for many years with Mr. Frederick Brandon and his daughter 
She had been discharged about six months after her master’s 
decease by Mrs. Major Brandon for alleged impertinence ; and 
so thoroughly convinced was Susan that the soon-afterwards 
alleged lunacy of Clara was but a juggling pretence to excuse 
the restraint under which her aunt-in-law. for the furtherance 


THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS 


7 ^ 


(( 


>> 


of her own vile purposes, had determined to keep her, that 
although out of place at the time, she devoted all the savings of 
her life, between eighty and ninety pounds, to procure “justice 
for the ill-used orphan. This article, Susan was advised, could 
be best obtained of the lord chancellor ; and proceedings were 
accordingly taken before the keeper of the king’s conscience, 
in order to change the custody of the pretended lunatic. The 
afi&davits filed in support of the petition were, however, so loose 
and vague, and were met with such positive counter-allegations, 
that the application was at once dismissed with costs ; and poor 
Susan — rash suitor for “ justice ” — reduced to absolute penury. 
These circumstances becoming known to Lady Compton, Susan 
was taken into her service ; and it was principally owing to her 
frequently-iterated version of the affair that Clara had been 
forcibly rescued from Mrs. Brandon’s son. 

On the following morning the patient was much calmer, 
though her mind still wandered somewhat. Fortified by the 
authority of the physician, who certified that to remove her, or 
even to expose her to agitation, would be dangerous, if not fatal. 
Lady Compton not only refused to deliver her up to Major and 
Mrs. Brandon, but to allow them to see her. Mrs. Brandon, 
in a towering rage, posted off to the nearest magistrate, to de- 
mand the assistance of peace-officers in obtaining possession of 
the person of the fugitive. That functionary would, however, 
only so far comply with the indignant lady’s solicitations, as to 
send his clerk to the castle to ascertain the reason of the young 
lady’s detention ; and when his messenger returned with a note^ 
enclosing a copy of the physician’s certificate, he peremptorily 
decided that the conduct of Lady Compton was not only per- 
fectly justifiable, but praiseworthy, and that the matter must 

remain over till the patient was in a condition to be moved. 

6 


80 


THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS. 


(( 




Things were precisely in this state, except that Clara Brandon 
had become perfectly rational ; and but for an irrepressible ner- 
vous dread of again falling into the power of her unscrupulous 
relative, quite calm, when Mr. Samuel Ferret made his wished- 
for appearance on the scene of action. 

Lono- and anxious was the conference which Mr. Ferret held 

O 

with his munificent client and her interesting protegee, if con- 
ference that may be called in which the astute attorney enacted 
4he part of listener only, scarcely once opening his thin, cautious 
tips. In vain did his eager brain silently ransack the whole 
armory of the law ; no weapon could he discern which aflforded 
the slightest hope of fighting a successful battle with a legally- 
appointed guardian for the custody of his ward. And yet Mr. 
Ferret felt, as he looked upon the flashing eye and glowing 
-countenance of Lady Compton, as she recounted a few of the 
grievous outrages inflicted upon the fair and helpless girl reclin- 
ing beside her — whose varying cheek and meek suffused eyes 
l)ore eloquent testimony to the truth of the relation — that he 
would willingly exert a vigor even beyond the law to meet his 
-client’s wishes, could he but see his way to a safe result. At 
length a ray of light, judging from his suddenly-gleaming eyes, 
-seemed to have broken upon the troubled chambers of his brain, 
and he rose somewhat hastily from his chair. 

“ By the by, I will just step ajid speak to this Susan Hopley, 
If your ladyship can inform me in what part of the lower regions 
I am likely to meet with her 

“ Let me ring for her.” 

“ No ; if you please not. What I have to ask he v is of very 
little importance ; still, to summon her here might give rise tc 
surmises, reports, and so on, which it may be as well to avoid. 
I had much rather see her accidentally, as it were.” 


it 


THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS. 


81 




As you please. You will find her somewhere about the 
housekeeper’s apartments. You know her by sight, I thmk 

“ Perfectly ; and with your leave I’ll take the opportunity of 
directing the horses to be put to. I must be in London by 
noon to-morrow if possible and away Mr. Ferret bustled. 

Susan,” said Mr. Ferret a few miiiutes afterwards, “step 
this way ; I want to have a word with you. Now, tell me are 
you goose enough to expect you will ever see the money again 
you so foolishly threw into the bottomless pit of chancery 

“ Of course I shall, Mr. Ferret, as soon as ever Miss Clara 
comes to her own. She mentioned it only this morning, and 
said she was sorry she could not repay Ine at once.” 

“ You are a sensible girl, Susan, though you did go to law 
with the lord chancellor ! I want you to be off with me to 
London ; and then perhaps we may get your money sooner than 
you expect.” 

“Oh, bother the money ! Is that all you want me to go 
to Lunnon for 

Mr. Ferret replied with a wink of such exceeding intelligence, 
that Susan at once declared she should be ready to start in ten 
minutes at the latest. 

“ That’s a good creature ; and, Susan, as there’s not the 
slightest occasion to let all the world know who’s going to run 
off with you, it may be as well for you to take your bundle and 
gtep on a mile or so on the road, say to the turn, just beyond 
the first turnpike.” Susan nodded with brisk good-humor, and 
disappeared in a twinkling. 

An hour afterwards, Mr. Ferret was on his way back to Lon- 
don, having first impressed upon Lady Compton the necessity 
of immediately relieving herself of the grave responsibility she 
had incurred towards Major Brandon for the safe custody of his 


82 


THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS. 


(( 


>7 


ward, by sending her home immediately. He promised to 
return on the third day from his departure ; but on the nature 
of the measures he intended to adopt, or the hopes he enter- 
tained of success, he was inflexibly silent; and he moreover 
especially requested that no one, not even Miss Brandon, should 
know of Susan Hopley’s journey to the metropolis. 

Mr. Ferret, immediately on his arrival in town, called at my 
chambers, and related with his usual minuteness and precision 
as many of the foregoing particulars as he knew and thought 
proper to communicate to me. For the rest I am indebted to 
subsequent conversations, with the different parties concerned. 

“ Well,” said I, as soon as he had concluded, “ what course 
do you propose to adopt 

“ I Ysdsh you to apply, on this afl&davit, for a writ of hahms 
ad suh.^ to bring up the body of Clara Brandon. Judge Bailey 
will be at chambers at three o’clock : it is now more than half- 
past two, and I can be off on my return by four at latest.” 

“ A writ of habeas !” I exclaimed with astonishment. “ Why, 
what end can that answer } The lady will be remanded, and 
you and I shall be laughed at for our pains.” 

This writ of habeas corpus “ ad subjiciendum I had better 
explain to the non-professional reader, is the great prerogative 
writ, the operation of which is sometimes suspended by the 
legislature during political panics. It is grounded on the prin- 
ciple that the sovereign has at all times a right to inquire^- 
through the judges of the superior courts, by what authority his 
or her subject is held in constraint. It issues, as a matter of 
right, upon the filing of an affidavit, averring that to the best 
of the belief of the deponent the individual sought to be brought 
up is illegally confined ; and it is of the essence of the proceed- 
ing, that the person alleged to be suffering unlawful constrain* 


THE WRIT TF HABEAS CORPUS 


83 


C( 


)> 


should actually be brought before the “ queen herself that is, 
before one or more of the judges of the court which has issued 
the writ, who, if they find th^ detention illegal^ the only question 
at issue upon this writ may discharge or bail the party. It was 
quite obvious, therefore, that in this case such a proceeding 
would be altogether futile, as the detention in the house of her 
guardian, under the sanction, too, of the lord chancellor, the 
ex-offido custodier of all lunatics — of a ward of alleged disordered 
intellect — was clearly legal, at least p'ima facie so, and not to 
be disturbed under a habeas ad sub. at all events. 

“ Perhaps so,” replied Ferret quite coolly in reply to my 
exclamation ; “ but I am determined to try every means of 
releasing the unfortunate young lady from the cruel thraldom 
in which she is held by that harridan of an aunt-in-law. She 
is no more really insane than you are ; but at the same time so 
excitable upon certain topics, that it might be perhaps difficult 
to disabuse the chancellor or a jury of the impression so indus- 
triously propagated to her prejudice. The peremptory rejection 
by her guardian of young Burford’s addresses, though sactioned 
by her father : you know the Burfords 

“ Of Grosvenor Street you mean — the East India director 
“ Yes, hi§ son ; and that reminds me that the declaration in 
that everlasting exchequer case must be filed to-morrow. Con- 
found it, how this flying about the country puts one out ! 1 

thought some one had kidnapped her son, or fired Comptoa 
Castle at least. By the way, I am much deceived if there isn’t 
t wedding there before long.” 

“ Indeed !” 

Yes, Miss Dalston with Sir Jasper’s eldest hope.” 

“ You don’t mean it 

** They do at all events, and that is much more to tho 


S4 “the writ of habeas corpus.” 


purpose. A fine young fellow enough, and sufficiently rich 
too ” 

“ All which rambling talk and anecdote,” cried I, interrupt- 
ing him, “ means, if I have any skill in reading Mr. Ferret, that 
that gentleman, having some ulterior purpose in view, which I 
cannot for the moment divine, is determined to have this writ, 
and does not wish to be pestered with any argument on th 
subject. Be it so : it is your affair, not mine. And now, as it 
is just upon three o’clock, let me see your affidavit.” 

I ran it over. “ Rather loose this, Mr. Ferret, but I suppose 
it will do.” 

“ Well, it is rather loose, but I could not with safety sail 
much closer to the wind. By the by, I think you had better 
first apply for a rule to stay proceedings against the bail in that 
case of Turner ; and after that is decided, just ask for this writ, 
off-hand as it were, and as a matter of course. His lordship 
may not then scrutinize the affidavit quite so closely as if he 
thought counsel had been brought to chambers purposely to 
apply for it.” 

“Cautious, Mr. Ferret! Well, come along, and I’ll see 
what I can do.” 

The writ was obtained without difficulty ; few questions were 
asked ; and at my request the judge made it returnable imme- 
diately. By four o’clock, Mr. Ferret, who could fortunately 
sleep as well in a postchaise as in a feather-bed, was, as he had 
promised himself, on his road to Lancashire once more, where he 
had the pleasure of serving Major Brandon personally ; at the 
same time tendering in due form the one shilling per mile fixed 
by the statute as preliminary traveling charges. The vituperative 
eloquence showered upon Mr. Ferret by the Major’s lady was, I 
afterwards heard, ext^’emely copious and varied, and was borne 


THE WRIT OF HAREAS CORPUS. 






by him, as I could easily believe, with the most philosophic 
composure. 

In due time the parties appeared before Mr. Justice Bailey, 
Miss Brandon was accompanied by her uncle, his wife, and » 
solicitor ; and spite of everything I could urge, the judge, as 1 
had forseen, refused to interfere in the matter. The poor girl 
was dreadfully agitated, but kept, nevertheless, her eyes upon* 
Mr. Ferret, as the source from which, spite of what was passing 
around her, effectual succor was sure to come. As for that gen- 
tleman himself, he appeared composedly indifferent to the pro- 
ceedings ; and indeed, I thought, seemed rather relieved thair 
otherwise when they terminated. I could not comprehend him. 
Mrs. Brandon, the instant the case was decided, clutched ClaraV 
arm within hers, and, followed by her husband and the solicitor, 
sailed out of the apartment with an air of triumphant disdain 
and pride. Miss Brandon looked round for Ferret, but not 
perceiving him — he had left hastily an instant or two before — 
her face became deadly pale, and the most piteous expression 
of hopeless despair I had ever beheld broke from her troubled 
but singularly-expressive eyes. I mechanically followed, with 
a half-formed purpose of remonstrating with Major Brandon in 
behalf of the unfortunate girl, and was by that means soon in 
possession of the key to Mr. Ferret’s apparently inexplicable 
conduct. 

The Brandon party walked very fast, and I had scarcely" 
got up with them as they were turning out of Chancery Lane 
into Fleet Street, when two men, whose vocation no accus- 
tomed eye could for an instant mistake, arrested their further 
progress. “ This lady,” said one of the men, slightly touching 
Miss Brandon on the shoulder, “ is, I believe, Clara Bran- 
don 


THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS. 


m 


?) 


“Yes she is; and what of that, fellow?” demanded the 
major’s lady with indignant emphasis. 

“ Not much, ma’am,” replied the sheriff’s officer, “ when you 
are used to it. It is my unpleasant duty to arrest her for the 
sum of eighty-seven pounds, indorsed on this writ, issued at the 
suit of one Susan Hopley.” 

“Arrest her!” exclaimed Mrs. Brandon; “why, she is a 
minor I” 

“ Minor or major, ma’am, makes very little difference to us. 
She can plead that hereafter, you know. In the meantime, 
miss, please to step into this coach,” replied the officer, holding 
the door open. 

“ But she’s a person of unsound mind,” screamed the lady, 
as Clara, nothing loath, sprang into the vehicle. 

“ So are most people that do business with our establish- 
ment,” responded the imperturbable official, as he shut and 
fastened the door. “ Here is my card, sir,” he added, address- 
ing the attorney, who now came up. “You see where to find 
the lady, if her friends wish to give bail to the sheriff, or, what 
is always more satisfactory, pay the debt and costs.” He then 
jumped on the box, his follower got up behind, and away drove 
the coach, leaving the discomfited major and his fiery better- 
half in a state of the blankest bewilderment ! 

“ Why, what is the meaning of this r” at length gasped Mrs. 
Brandon, fiercely addressing the attorney, as if he were a 
jparticeps criminis in the affair. 

“ The meaning, my dear madame, is, that Miss Clara Bran- 
don is arrested for debt, and carried off to a sponging-house ; 
and that unless you pay the money, or file bail, she will to- 
morrow be lodged in jail,” replied the unmoved man of law. 

“ Bail ! money ' How are we to do either in London, awaj 


THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS.’' 


87 


C( 


from home demanded the major with, for him, much emo- 
tion. 

I did not wait to hear more, but, almost suffocated with 
laughter at the success of Ferret’s audacious riise, hastened 
over to the Temple. I was just leaving chambers for the night 
— about ten o’clock I think it must have been — when Ferret, in 
exuberant spirits, burst into the room. 

Well, sir, what do you think now of a writ ad sub. ?” 

“ Why, I think, Mr. Ferret,” replied I, looking as serious as 
I could, “ that yours is very sharp practice ; that the purpose 
you have put it to is an abuse of the writ ; that the arrest is 
consequently illegal ; and that a judge would, upon motion, 
quash it with costs.” 

“ To be sure he would : who doubts that ? Let him, and 
welcome ! In the meantime, Clara Brandon is safe beyond the 
reach of all the judges or chancellors that ever wore horse- 
hair, and that everlasting simpleton of a major and his harridan 
wife roaming the metropolis like distracted creatures ; and that 
I take to be the real essence of the thing, whatever the big- 
wigs may decide about the shells !” 

“ I suppose the plaintiff soon discharged her debtor out of 
custody 

“ Without loss of time, you may be sure. Miss Brandon, I 
may tell you, is with the Rev. Mr. Derwent at Brompton. You 
know him : the newly-married curate of St. Margaret’s that 
was examined in that will case. Well him : he is an intelligent, 
high-principled man ; and I have no doubt that, under his and 
Mrs. Derwent’s care, all trace of Miss Brandon’s mental in- 
firmity will disappear long before she attains her majority next 
June twelvemonth ; whilst the liberal sum per month which 
Lady Compton will advance, will be of great service to him 


THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS. 




»> 


‘‘ That appears all very good. But are you sure you cac 
effectually conceal the place of her retreat 

“ I have no fear : the twigs that will entangle her precious 
guardians in the labyrinths of a false clue are already set and 
limed. Before to-morrow night they will have discovered, by 
means of their own wonderfully-penetrative sagacity, that Clara 
has been spirited over to France ; and before three months are 
past, the same surprising intelligence will rejoice in the dis- 
covery that she expired in a maison de sanle — fine comfortable 
repose, in which fool’s paradise I hope to have the honor of 
awakening them about next June twelvemonth, and not as at 
present advised before !” 

Everything fortunately turned out as Mr. Ferret anticipated ; 
and when a few months had glided by, Clara Brandon was a 
memory only, save of course to the few entrusted with the 
secret. 

The whirligig of time continued as ever to speed on its course, 
and bring round in due season its destined revenges. The 
health, mental and bodily, of Miss Brandon rapidly improved 
under the kind and judicious treatment of Mr. and Mrs. Der- 
went; and long before the attainment of her majority, were 
pronounced by competent authority to be thoroughly re-estab- 
lished. The day following that which completed her twenty- 
first year, Mr. Ferret, armed with the necessary authority, had 
the pleasure of announcing to the relict of Major l^randon 
(he had been dead some months), and to her brutal son, that 
they must forthwith depart from the home in which they, to the 
very moment of his announcement, thought themselves secure ; 
and surrender every shilling of the property they had so long 
dreamt was their own. They were prostrated by the intelligence, 
and proved as mean and servile in the hour of adversit}^, as ihej 


THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS. 


tt 


3 » 


had been insolent and cruel in the day of fancied success and 
prosperity. The pension of three hundred pounds a year for 
both their lives, proffered by Miss Brandon, was eagerly ac- 
cepted ; and they returned to the obscurity from which they 
had by acccident emerged. 

About six months afterwards, I had the pleasure of drawing 
up the marriage settlement between Clara Brandon and Herbert 
Burford ; and a twelvemonth after, that of standing sponsor to 
one of the lustiest brats ever sprinkled at a font : none of which 
delightful results, if we are to believe Mr. Ferret, vmuld have 
ever been arrived at had not he, at a very critical moment^ 
refused to take counsel’s opinion upon the virtues, capabilities, 
and powers contained in the great writ of habeas corpus tUi 
subjictendum 


ESTHER MASON. 

About forty years ago, Jabez Woodford, a foreman of ship- 
wrights in the Plymouth dockyard, whilst carelessly crossing 
one of the transverse beams of a seventy-four gun-ship, build- 
ing in that arsenal, missed his footing, fell to the bottom of the 
hold of the huge vessel, and was killed on the spot. He left a 
widow and one child — a boy seven years of age, of placid, en- 
dearing disposition, but weak intellect — almost in a state of 
destitution. He had been i coarse-tempered, improvident man ; 
and like too many of his class, in those days at least, dissipated 
the whole of his large earnings in present sensuous indulgence, 
utterly careless or unmindful of the future. Esther Woodford, 
who, at the time of her husband’s death, scarcely numbered five- 
and-twenty years, was still a remarkably comely, as well as in 
teresting, gentle-mannered person ; and moreover had, for hei 
station in life, received a tolerable education. Her rash, ill- 
assorted marriage with Woodford had been hastily contracted 
when she was barely seventeen years of age, in consequence of 
a jealous pique which she, for some silly reason or other, had 
conceived regarding Henry Mason, an intelligent, young sea 
faring man, of fair prospects in life, and frank disposition, witl 
whom she had for some time previously, as the west-country 
phrase has it, “ kept company,” and who was, mor-eover, ten- 
derly attached to her. Esther’s married life was one long re- 
pentance of the rash act ; and the severance of the tie which 


ESTHER MASON. 


91 


hound her to an ungenial mate — after the subsidence of the 
natural horror and compassion excited by the sudden and fright- 
ful nature of the catastrophe — must have been felt as a most 
blessed relief. A few weeks afterwards, she accepted an asylum 
with her brother-in-law, Davies, a market-gardener in the vi- 
cinity of Plymouth, where, by persevering industry with her 
needle, and thrifty helpfulness in her sister’s household duties, 
she endeavored to compensate her kind-hearted relatives for the 
support of herself and helpless, half-witted child. Mason she 
had never seen since the day previous to her marriage ; but she 
knew he was prospering in the busy world, and that, some time 
before her husband’s death, he had been appointed chief-mate 
in a first-claas merchant-ship trading to the Pacific. He had 
sailed about a fortnight previous to that event ; and now, ten 
lazy months having slowly floated past, the lover of her youth, 
with whom, in that last sunny day of her young life — how distant 
did it seem, viewed through the long intervening \dsta of days 
and nights of grief and tears ! — she had danced so joyously be- 
neath the flowering chestnut-trees, was once more near her ; 
and it was — oh happiness ! — no longer a sin to think of him — 
no longer a crime to recall and dwell upon the numberless proofs 
of the deep affection, the strong love, he had once felt for her. 
Once, felt ! Perhaps even now ! How swiftly had the in- 

telligence communicated by her sympathizing sister tinted with 
bright hues the dark curtain of the future ! 

And yet,” murmured poor Esther, the flush of hope fading 
as suddenly as it had arisen, as with meek sad eyes she glanced 
at the reflection of her features in the small oval glass suspended 
above the mantel-piece — “ I almost doubt, Susy, dear, if he would 
recognize me ; even if old feelings and old times have not long 
fince faded from his memory” 


92 


ESTHER MASON. 


Stuff and trumpery about fading away !” broke in Mrs. 
Davies. “ Henry Mason is the same true-hearted man he wa^ 
eight years ago ; and as a proof that he is, just read this letter, 
which I promised him to give you. There, don’t go falling into 
a flustration ; don’t now, Esther, and to-morrow market-day and 
all ! Don’t cry, Esther,” she added vehemently, but at the same 
time sobbing furiously herself, and throwing her arms round her 
sister’s neck : “ but perhaps — perhaps it will do us good, both 
of us !” 

It may be necessary to state that I owe the foregoing particulars 
to the interest felt by my wife — herself a native of beautiful De- 
von — in the fortunes of this humble household. Esther was her 
foster-sister ; and it happened that just at this period, it being 
vacation-time, we were paying a visit to a family in the neigh- 
borhood. A few hours after the receipt of the welcome letter, 
ray wife chanced to call on Esther relative to some fancy needle- 
work ; and on her return, I was of course favored with very full 
and florid details of this little bit of cottage romance ; the which 
I, from regard to the reader, have carefully noted down, and as 
briefly as possible expressed. 

We met Henry Mason with his recovered treasure on the 
following evening ; and certainly a more favorable specimen of 
the vigorous, active, bold-featured, frank-spoken British seaman 
I never met with. To his comparatively excellent education — 
for which I understood he was indebted to his mother, a superior 
woman, who, having fallen from one of the little heights of so- 
ciety, had kept a school at Plymouth — in addition to his correct 
and temperate habits, he was indebted for the rapid advance — 
he was but a few months older than Esther — he had obtained 
in the merchant service. The happiness which beamed upon 
Esther’s face did not appear to be of the exuberant, buoyant 


ESTHER MASON. 


93 


character that kindled the ruddy cheek and ran over at the 
bright, honest eyes of the hardy sailor : there seemed to mingle 
with it a half-doubting, trembling apprehensiveness ; albeit it 
was not difficult to perceive that, sorrowfully as had passed her 
noon of prime, an “ Indian summer” of the soul was rising upon 
her brightened existence, and already with its first faint flushes 
lighting up her meek, doubting eyes, and pale, changing counte- 
nance. Willy, her feeble-minded child, frisked and gambolled 
oy their side ; and altogether, a happier group than they would, 
I fancy, have been difficult to find in all broad England. 

The next week they were married ; and one of the partners 
in the firm by which Mason was employed happening to dine 
with us on the day of the wedding, the conversation turned for 
a few minutes on the bridegroom’s character and prospects. 

“ He has the ring of true metal in him,” I remarked ; “ and 
is, I should suppose, a capital seaman 

‘‘ A first-rate one,” replied Mr. Roberts. “ Indeed so high 
is my father’s opinion of him, that he intends to confer upon him 
the command of a fine brig now building for us in the Thames, 
and intended for the West India trade. He possesses also sin- 
gular com'age and daring. Twice, under very hazardous circum- 
stances, he has successfully risked his life to save men who had 
fallen overboard. He is altogether a skilful, gallant seaman.” 

“ Such a man,” observed another of the company, “ might 
surely have aspired higher than to the hand of Esther Woodford, 
dove-eyed and interesting as she may be 

Perhaps so,” returned Mr. Roberts a little curtly ; “ though 
he, it seems, could not have thought so. Indeed it is chiefly of 
simple-hearted, chivalrous-minded men like Mason that it can 
be with general truth observed — 


* .)n revient toujours a ses premiers amoari.’ •• 


94 


ESTHER MASON. 


The subject then dropped, and it was a considerable time 
afterwards, and under altogether altered circumstances, when 
the newly-married couple once more crossed my path in life. 

It was about eight months after his marriage — though he had 
been profitably enough employed in the interim — that Henry 
Mason, in consequence of the welcome announcement that the 
new brig was at last ready for her captain and cargo, arrived in 
London to enter upon his new appointment. 

“ These lodgings, Esther,” said he, as he was preparing to 
go out, soon after breakfast, on the morning after his arrival, 
are scarcely the thing ; and as I, like you, am a stranger in 
Cockney-land, I had better consult some of the firm upon the 
subject, before we decide upon permanent ones. In the mean- 
time, you and Willy must mind and keep in doors when I am 
not with you, or I shall have one or other of you lost in this 
great wilderness of a city. I shall return in two or three hours. 
I will order something for dinner as I go along : I have your 
purse. Good-by : God bless you both.” 

Inquiring his way every two or three minutes. Mason presently 
found himself in the vicinity of Tower Stairs. A scuffle in front 
of a public-house attracted his attention ; and his ready sympa- 
thies were in an instant enlisted in behalf of a young sailor, 
vainly struggling in the grasp of several athletic men, and crying 
lustily on the gaping bystanders for help. Mason sprang forward, 
caught one of the assailants by the collar, and hurled him with 
some violence against the wall. A fierce outcry greeted this 
audacious interference with gentlemen who, in those good old 
times, were but executing the law in a remarkably good old 
manner. Lieutenant Donnagheu, a somewhat celebrated snap- 
per-up of loose mariners, emerged upon the scene ; and in a few 
minutes was enabled to exult in the secure possession of an ad- 


ESTHER MASON. 


95 


ditional prize in the unfortunate Henry Mason, who, too late, 
discovered that he had embroiled himself with a pressgang ! 
Desperate, frenzied were the efforts he made to extricate him- 
self from the peril in which he had rashly involved himself. In 
vain ! His protestations that he was a mate, a captain, in the 
merchant service, were unheeded or mocked at. 

To all his remonstrances he only got the professional answer 
His majesty wants you, and that is enough ; so come along, 
md no more about it.” 

Bruised, exhausted, almost mad, he was borne off in triumph 
:o a boat, into which he was thrust with several others, and 
iwiftly rowed off to a receiving-ship in the river. Even there 
w*is assertions and protestations were of no avail. Nothing but 
/iU Admiralty order, the officer in command candidly told him, 
» fiould effect his liberation. His majesty was in need of sea- 
men ; and he was evidently too smart a one to be deprived of 
the glory of serving his country. “ You must therefore,” con- 
cluded the officer, as he turned laughingly upon his heel, “ do 
as thousands of other fine fellows have been compelled to do — 
‘ grin and hear it. ’ ” In about three weeks from the date of 
his impressment Mason found himself serving in the Mediter- 
lanean on board the “ Active” frigate, Captain Alexander Gor- 
vion, without having been permitted one opportunity of commu- 
nicating with the shore. This was certainly very sharp, but it 
was not the less very common practice in those great days of 
triumphant battles by land and sea. 

Very drearily passed the time with the bereaved wife. Her 
husband had promised to send home something for dinner, and 
various groceries ; yet hour after hour went past, and nothing 
arrived. Morning fiushed into noon, day faded to twilight, and 

still the well-known and always eager step sounded not upo^i tn« 
7 


9C 


ESTHER MASON. 


stairs ! What could have detained him from his wife, shut up, 
imprisoned, as it were, in that hot, hurrying, stifling city ? She 
feared to listen to the suggestions of her boding heart ; and with 
feverish restlessness ran out upon the landing, and peered over 
the stairs every time a knock or ring was heard at the street- 
door. This strange behavior was, it seems, noticed by the land 
lady of the lodging-house, and injuriously interpreted. A knock 
came to the door, and that person entered to know at what time 

Mrs. , she had forgotten the young woman’s name, expected 

the dinner, she, the landlady, had undertaken to cook. 

Esther timidly replied that her husband had promised to re- 
turn in two or three hours at latest ; and that she did not com- 
prehend his continued absence— was indeed quite alarmed about 
it 

“ Your husband !” said the woman, glancing insolently at 
Esther’s flgure. “ Are you sure he is your husband 

The hot blood suffused the temples of the indignant wife as 
she said, “ This apartment, madam, I believe is mine 

“ Oh, certainly, as long as you can pay for it and rudely 
slamming the door, the landlady departed. 

The long wretched night at last over, Esther rose with the 
light ; and after giving her son his breakfast from the remains 
of that of the day before, set off with him to the place of busi- 
ness of the Messrs. Roberts. It was early, and one clerk only 
had as yet arrived at the office. He informed her that Mr. 
Henry Mason had not been seen, and that the partners were 
greatly annoyed about it, as his immediate presence was abso- 
lutely necessary. 

Stunned, terrified, bewildered by the frightful calamity which 
she believed had befallen her, she felt convinced that her hus- 
band had been entrapped and murdered for the sake of the 


ESTHER MASON. 


9" 


money he had about him : the wretched woman tottered back 
to her lodgings, and threw herself on the bed in wild despair. 
What was to be done for food even for her boy ? Her husband 
had not only his pocket-book with him containing his larger 
money, but had taken her purse ’ She was alone and penniless 
in a strange city ! The hungry wailings of her witless child 
towards evening at length aroused her from the stupor of despair 
into which she had fallen. The miserable resource of pawning 
occurred to her : she could at least, by pledging a part of her 
wardrobe, procure, sustenance for her child till she could hear 
from her sister ; and with trembling hands she began arranging 
a bundle of such things as she could best spare, when the land- 
lady abruptly entered the room, with a peremptory demand — 
as her husband was not returned, and did not appear likely to 
do so — ^for a month’s rent in advance, that being the term the 
apartments were engaged for. The tears, entreaties, expostula- 
tions of the miserable wife were of no avail. Not one article, 
the woman declared, should leave her house till her claim was 
settled. She affected to doubt, perhaps really did so, that 
Esther was married ; and hinted coarsely at an enforcement of 
the laws against persons who had no visible means of subsistence. 
In a paroxysm of despair, the unhappy woman rushed- out of the 
house ; and accompanied by her hungry child, again sought the 
counting-house of the Messrs. Roberts. She was now as much 
too late as she had been too early in the morning : the partners 
and clerks had gone, and she appears to have been treated with 
some rudeness by the porter, who was closing the premises when 
she arrived. Possibly the wildness of her looks, and the inco- 
herence of her speech and manner, produced an impression un- 
favorable to her. Retracing her steps — penniless, hungry, sick 
at heart — she thought, as she afterwards declared, that she 


ESTHER MASON. 




recognized my wife in one of the numerous ladies seated before 
the counters of a fashionable shop in one of the busiest thorough- 
fares. She entered, and not till she approached close to the lady 
discovered her mistake. She turned despairingly iway ; when 
a piece of rich lace, lying apparently unheeded on the counter, 
met her eye, and a dreadful suggestion crossed her fevered brain ; 
here at least was the means of procuring food for her wailing 
child. She glanced hastily and fearfully round. No eye, she 
thought, observed her ; and, horror of horrors ! a moment after- 
wards she had concealed the lace beneath her shawl, and with 
tottering feet was hastily leaving the shop. She had not taken 
half-a-dozen steps when a heavy hand was laid upon her shoulder, 
and a voice, as of a serpent hissing in her ^r, commanded her 
to restore the lace she had stolen. Transfixed with shame and 
terror, she stood rooted to the spot, and the lace fell on the 
floor. 

“ Fetch an officer,” said the harsh voice, addressing one of 
the shopmen. 

“ No — no — no !” screamed the wretched woman, falling on 
her knees in wild supplication. “ For my child’s sake — in 
mercy of the innocent babe as yet unborn — ^pity and forgive 
me !” 

The harsh order was iterated ; and Esther Mason, fainting 
with shame and agony, was conveyed to the prison in Giltspur 
Street. The next day she was fully committed to Newgate on 
the capital charge of privately stealing in a shop to the value of 
five pounds. A few hours after her incarceration within those 
terrible walls, she was prematurely delivered of a female child. 

I have no moral doubt whatever, I never have had, that at 
the time of the committal of the felonious act, the intellect of 
Esther Mason was disordered. Any other supposition is incon 


ESTHER MVSON. 


99 


iistent with the whole tenor of her previous life and character 
“ Lead us not into temptation” is indeed the holiest, because 
the humblest prayer. 

Three weeks had elapsed before the first intimation of these 
events reached me, in a note from the chaplain of Newgate, an 
excellent, kind-hearted man, to whom Mrs. Mason had confided 
ner sad story. I immediately hastened to the prison ; and in a 
long interview with her, elicited the foregoing statement. I 
readily assured her that all which legal skill could do to extricate 
her from the awful position in which she stood, the gravity of 
which I did not affect to conceal, should be done. The offence 
with which she was charged had supplied the scaffold with num- 
berless victims ; and tradesmen were more than ever clamorous 
for the stern execution of a law which, spite of experience, they 
still regarded as the only safeguard of their property. My wife 
was overwhelmed with grief ; and in her anxiety to save her 
unhappy foster-sister, sought, without my knowledge, an inter- 
view with the prosecutor, in the hope of inducing him not to 
press the charge. Her efforts were unavailing. He had suffered 
much, he said, from such practices, and was ‘‘ upon principle” 
determined to make an example of every offender he could 
catch. As to the plea that the husband had been forcibly car- 
ried off by a pressgang, it was absurd ; for what would become 
of the property of tradesmen if the wife of every sailor so en- 
trapped were to be allowed to plunder shops with impunity ? 
This magnificent reasoning was of course unanswerable ; and 
the rebuked petitioner abandoned her bootless errand in des- 
pair. Messrs. Roberts, I should have mentioned, had by some 
accident discovered the nature of the misfortune which had be- 
fallen their officer, and had already mad ) urgent application to 
the Admiralty for his release. 


100 


EBTHER M480N. 


The Old Bailey sessions did not come on for some time ; I, 
however, took care to secure at once, as I did not myself practice 
in that court, the highest talent which its bar afforded. Willy, 
who had been placed in a workhouse by the authorities, we had 
properly taken care of till he could be restored to his mother ; 
or, in the event of her conviction, to his relatives in Devonshire 

The sessions were at last on : a “ true bill” against Esther 
Mason for shoplifting, as it was popularly termed, was unhesi- 
tatingly found, and with a heavy heart I wended my way to the 
court to watch the proceedings. A few minutes after I entered, 
Mr. Justice Le Blanc and Mr. Baron Wood, who had assisted 
at an important case of stockjobbing conspiracy, just over, left 
the bench : the learned recorder being doubtless considered 
quite equal to the trial of a mere capital charge of theft. 

The prisoner was placed in the dock ; but try as I might, I 
could not look at her. It happened to be a calm bright summer 
day ; the air, as if in mockery of those death-sessions, humming 
with busy, lusty life ; so that, sitting with my back to the pris- 
oner, I could, as it were, read her demeanor in the shadow 
thrown by her figure on the opposite sun-lighted wall. There 
she stood, during the brief moments which sealed her earthly 
doom, with downcast eyes and utterly dejected posture ; her 
thin fingers playing mechanically with the fiowers and sweet- 
scented herbs spread scantily before her The trial was very 
brief : the evidence, emphatically conclusive, was confidently 
given, and vainly cross-examined. Nothing remained but an 
elaborate ad misericordiam excusative defence, which had been 
prepared by me, and which the prsoner begged her counsel 
might be allowed to read. This was of course refused ; the 
recorder remarking, they might as well allow counsel for felons 
to address juries, as read defences ; and that^ as every practical 


ESTHER MASON. 


101 


man knew, would be utterly subversive of the due administratiou 
of justice. The clerk of the court would read the paper, if the 
prisoner felt too agitated to do so. This was done ; and very 
vilely done. The clerk, I dare say, read as well as he was 
able ; but old, near-sighted, and possessed of anything but a 
clear enunciation, what could be expected } The defence, so 
read, produced not the slightest effect either on the court or 
jury. The recorder briefly commented on the conclusiveness 
of the evidence for the prosecution ; and the jury, in the same 
brief, business-like manner, returned a verdict of Guilty. 

‘‘ What have you to say,” demanded the clerk, “ why sen- 
tence of death should not be pronounced upon you, according to 
law 

The shadow started convulsively as the terrible words fell 
from the man’s lips ; and I saw that the suddenly-upraised 
eyes of the prisoner were fastened on the face of the fearful 
questioner. The lips, too, appeared to move ; but no sound 
reached my ears. 

“ Speak, woman,” said the recorder ; “ if you have anything 
to urge before sentence is pronounced.” 

I started up, and turiung to the prisoner, besought her in 
hurried accents to speak. “ Remind them of the infant at your 
breast — your husland ” 

“ Who is that conferring with the prisoner demanded the 
judge in an angry voice. 

I turned, and confronted him with a look as cold and haughty 
as his own. He did not think proper to pursue the inquiry 
further , and after muttering something about the necessity of 
not interrupting the proceedings of the court, again asked the 
prisoner if she had anything to urge. 

“ Not for myself— not for my sake,” at last faintly murmured 


102 


ESTHER MASON. 


the trembling woman ; “ but for that of my poor dear infant — 
my poor witless boy ! I do not think, sir, I was in my right 
mind. I was starving. I was friendless. My husband, too, 

whom you have heard ” She stopped abruptly ; a choking 

sob struggled in her throat ; and but for the supporting arm of 
one of the turnkeys, she would have fallen to the ground. 

“ Unhappy, guilty woman,” said the recorder, with the cool- 
ness of a demon, “ the plea of insanity you would set up is 
utterly untenable. Your husband, it seems, is serving his ma- 
jesty in the royal navy ; defending his country, whilst his wife 
was breaking its laws, by the commission of a crime which, but 
for the stern repression of the law, would sap the foundations of 
the security of property, and ” 

I could endure no more. The atmosphere of the court seemed 
to stifle me ; and I rushed for relief into the open air. Before, 
however, I had reached the street, a long, piercing scream in- 
formed me that the learned judge had done his duty. 

No effort was spared during the interval which elapsed previous 
to the recorder presenting his report to the privy-counsel — a pe- 
culiar privilege at that time attached to the office — to procure a 
mitigation of the sentence. A petition, setting forth the peculiar 
circumstances of the case, was carefully prepared ; and by the 
indefatigable exertions of an excellent Quaker gentleman — 
whom, as he is still alive, and might not choose to have his 
name blazoned to the world, I will call William Friend — was 
soon very numerously signed. The prosecutor, however, ob- 
stinately refused to attach his name to the document ; and the 
absence of his signature — so strangely did men reason on such 
matters in those days — would, it was feared, weigh heavily 
against the success of the petition. The amiable and enlight- 
ened Sir Samuel Romilly not only attached his nane, but aided 


Esther mason. 


103 


us zealously by Lis advice and influence. In short, nothing was 
omitted that appeared likely to attain the desired object. 

Two days before the petition was to be forwarded to the 
proper quarter, Henry Mason arrived in England, the exertions 
»f his employers having procured his discharge. The ‘‘ Active” 
was one of Captain Hoste’s squadron, which obtained the cele- 
brated victory off Lissa, over the Franco-Yenetian fleet com- 
manded by Admiral Dobourdieu. Henry Mason, it appeared 
by the testimonials of the captain and officers of his ship, had 
greatly distinguished himself in the action. We inclosed these 
papers with the petition ; and then, having done all in our 
power, awaited with anxious impatience the result of the re- 
corder’s report. It was announced to me, as I was sitting some- 
what later than usual at chambers, by Mr. William Friend. The 
judgment to die was confirmed ! All our representations had 
not sufficed to counterbalance the supposed necessity of exhib- 
iting terrible examples of the fate awaiting the perpetrators of 
an offence said to be greatly on the increase. Excellent William 
Friend wept like a child as he made the announcement. 

There are many persons alive who recollect this horrible 
tragedy — this national disgrace — this act of gross barbarity on 
the part of the great personage, who, first having carried off the 
poor woman’s husband, left her to die for an act the very conse- 
quence of that robbery. Who among the spectators can ever 
forget that heart-rending scene — the hangman taking the baby 
from the breast of the wretched creature just before he put hei 
to death ! But let us not rake up these terrible reminiscences. 
Let us hope that the truly guilty are forgiven. And let us 
take consolation from reflecting that this event led the great 
Romilly to enter on his celebrated career as a reformer of the 
criminal law. 


104 


ESTHER MASON 


The remains of Esther Mason were obtained from the. New^ 
gate officials, and quietly interred in St. Sepulchre’s church-yard. 
A. plain slab, with her name only plainly chiselled upon it, was 
some time afterwards placed above the grave. A few years ago 
I attended a funeral in the same grave-yard ; and after a slight 
search, discovered the spot. The inscription, though of course 
much worn, was still quite legible. 

I had not seen Henry Mason since his return ; but I was glad 
to hear from Mr. William Friend that, after the first passionate 
burst of rage and grief had subsided, he had, apparently at least, 
thanks to the tender and pious expostulations of his wife — with 
whom, by the kind intervention of the sheriffs, he was permitted 
long and frequent interviews — settled down into calmness and 
resignation. One thing only he would not bear to hear even 
from her, and that was any admission that she had been guilty 
of, even the slightest offence. A hint of the kind, however un- 
intentional, would throw him into a paroxysm of fmy ; and the 
subject was consequently in his presence studiously avoided. 

A few days after the execution, Mr. William Friend called 
on me just after breakfast, accompanied by the bereaved hus- 
band. I never saw so changed a man All the warm kindliness 
of his nature had vanished, and was replaced by a gloomy fierce 
austerity, altogether painful to contemplate. 

“ Well, sir,” said he, as he barely touched my proffered hand, 
“ they have killed her, you see, spite of all you could say or do. 
It much availed me, too, that I had helped to win their boasted 
victories and he laughed with savage bitterness. 

“ Henry — Henry !” exclaimed William Friend, in a reproving 
accent. 

“ Well, well, sir,” rejoined Mason, impatiently, “ you are a 
good man, and have of course your own notions on these matters; 


ESTHER MASON. 


105 


I also have mine. Or, perhaps, you think it is only the blood of 
the rich and great which, shed unjustly, brings forth the iron 
harvest } Forgive me,” he added, checking himself. “ I re- 
spect you both ; but my heart is turned to stone. You do not 
know — none ever knew but I — how kind, how loving, how gentle 
was that poor long-suffering girl.” 

He turned from us to hide the terrible agony which convulsed 
him. 

“ Henry,” said Mr. Friend, taking him kindly by the hand, 
“ we pity thee sincerely, as thou knowest ; but thy bitter, re- 
vengeful expressions are unchristian, sinful. The authorities 
whom thou, not for the first time, railest on so wildly, acted, be 
STire of it, from a sense of duty ; a mistaken one, in my opinion, 
doubtless ; still ” 

“Say no more, sir,” interrupted Mason. “We differ in 
opinion upon the subject. And now, gentlemen, farewell. I 
wished to see you, sir, before I left this country forever, to thank 
you for your kind, though fruitless exertions. Mr. Friend has 
promised to be steward for poor Willy of all I can remit for his 
use. Farewell ! God bless you both !” He was gone ! 

War soon afterwards broke out with the United States of 
America, and Mr. Friend discovered that one of the most active 
and daring officers in the Republican navy was Henry Mason, 
who had entered the American service in the maiden name of 
his wife ; and that the large sums he had remitted from time to 
time for the use of Willy, were the produce of his successful 
depredations on British commerce. The instant Mr. Friend 
made the discovery, he refused to pollute his hands with moneys 
so obtained, and declined all further agency in the matter. 
Mason, however, contrived to remit through some other channel 
to the Davies’s, with whom the boy had been placed ; and a 


106 


ESTHER MASON. 


rapid improvement in their circumstances was soon visible 
These remittances ceased about the middle of 1814; and a 
twelvemonth after the peace with America, we ascertained that 
Henry Mason had been killed in the battle on Lake Champlain, 
where he had distinguished himself, as everywhere else, by the 
reckless daring and furious hate with which he fought against 
the country which, in his unreasoning frenzy, he accused of tha 
murder of his wife. He was recognized by one of his former 
messmates in the “ Active who, conveyed a prisoner on board 
the American commander Macdonough’s ship, recognized him 
as he lay stretched on the deck, in the uniform of an American 
naval officer ; his countenance, even in death, wearing the same 
stormful defiant expression which it assumed on the day that hi.»» 
beloved Esther perished on the scaffold. 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT 


It is really time that a properly-qualified governess had 
charge of those girls,” observed my wife, as Mary and Kate 
after a more than usually boisterous romp with their papa, left 
the room for bed. I may here remark, inter alia^ that I once 
surprised a dignified and highly-distinguished judge at a game 
of blindman’s bufif with his children, and very heartily he ap- 
peared to enjoy it too. “ It is really time -that a properly- 
qualified governess had charge of those girls. Susan May did 
very well as a nursery teacher, but they are now far beyond her 
control. I cannot attend to tl 3ir education, and as for you” 

The sentence was concluded by a shrug of the shoulders 

and a toss of the head, eloquently expressive of the degree of 
estimation in which my governing powers were held. 

“ Time enough, surely, for that,” I exclaimed, as soon as I 
had composed myself ; for I was a little out of breath. “ They 
may, I think, rub along with Susan for another year or two 
Mary is but seven years of age” 

“ Eight years, if you please. She was eight years old last 
Thursday three weeks.” 

“ Eight years ! Then we must have been married nine ; 
Bless me, how the time has flown : it seems scarcely so many 
weeks !” 

“ Nonsense,” rejoined my wife with a sharpness of tone and 
a rigidity of facial muscle which, considering the handsome com 


108 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


pliment I had just paid her, argued, I was afraid, a foregone 
conclusion. “ You always have recourse to some folly of that 
sort whenever I am desirous of entering into a serious consulta- 
tion on family affairs.” 

There was some truth in this, I confess. The “ consulta- 
tions” which I found profitable were not serious ones with my 
wife upon domestic matters ; leading, as they invariably did, to 
a diminution instead of an increase of the little balance at the 
banker’s. If such a proposition could therefore be evaded or 
adjourned by even an extravagant compliment, I considered it 
well laid out. But the expedient, I found, was one which did 
not improve by use. For some time after marriage it answered 
remarkably well ; but each succeeding year of wedded bliss 
marked its rapidly-declining efficacy. 

“ Well, well ; go on.” 

“ I say it is absolutely necessary that a first-rate governess 
should be at once engaged. Lady Maldon has been here to- 
day, and she” 

“ Oh, I thought it might be her new ladyship’s suggestion. 
I wish the ‘ fountain of honor’ was somewhat charier of its 
knights and ladies, and then perhaps” 

“ What, for mercy’s sake, are you running on about .^” in- 
terrupted the lady with peremptory emphasis. Fountains of 
honor, forsooth ! One would suppose, to hear you talk in that 
wild, nonsensical way, that you were addressing a bench of 
judges sitting in hanco^ instead of a sensible person solicitous 
for her and your children’s welfare.” 

Bless the woman,” thought I ; “ what an exalted idea she 
appears to have of forensic eloquence ! Proceed, my love,” 1 
continued ; “ there is a difference certainly ; and I am aU 
attention ” 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT 


109 


“ Lady Maldon knows a young lady — a distant relative, in 
deed, of hers — whom she is anxious to serve” 

“ At our expense.” 

“ How can you be so ungenerous ? Edith Willoughby is the 
orphan daughter of the late Reverend Mr. Willoughby, curate 
of Heavy Tree in Warwickshire, I believe ; and was specially 
educated for a’ first-class governess and teacher. She speaks 
French with the true Parisian accent, and her Italian, Ladj 
Maldon assures me, is pure Tuscan” 

“ He-e-e-m !” 

“ She dances with grace and elegance ; plays the harp and 
piano with skill and taste ; is a thorough artiste in drawing and 
painting ; and is, moreover, very handsome — though beauty, I 
admit, is an attribute which in a governess might be very well 
dispensed with.” 

“ True ; unless, indeed, it were catching.” 

I need not prolong this connubial dialogue. It is sufficient to 
state that Edith Willoughby was duly installed in office on the 
following day ; and that, much to my surprise, I found that her 
qualifications for the charge she had undertaken were scarcely 
overcolored. She was a well-educated, elegant, and beautiful 
girl, of refined and fascinating manners, and possessed of one of 
the sweetest, gentlest dispositions that ever charmed and graced 
the family and social circle. She was, I often thought, for her 
own chance of happiness, too ductile, too readily yielding to the 
wishes and fancies of others. In a very short time I came to re- 
gard her as a daughter, and with my wife and children she was 
speedily a prodigious favorite. Mary and Kate improved rapidly 
under her judicious tuition, and I felt for once positively grate- 
ful to busy Lady Maldon for her officious interference in my 
domestic arrangements. 


110 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


Edith Willoughby had been domiciled with us about two 
years, when Mr. Harlowe, a gentleman of good descent and fine 
property, had occasion to call several times at my private 
residence on business relating to the purchase of a house in 
South Audley Street, the title to which exhibited by the venders 
was not of the most satisfactory kind. On one occasion he 
stayed to dine with us, and I noticed that he seemed much 
struck by the appearance of our beautiful and accomplished 
governess. His evident emotion startled and pained me in a 
much higher degree than I could have easily accounted for even 
to myself. Mr. Harlowe was a widower, past his first youth 
certainly, but scarcely more than two or three-and-thirty years 
of age,, wealthy, not ill-looking, and, as far as I knew, of aver- 
age character in society. Surely an excellent match, if it 
should come to that, for an orphan girl rich only in fine talents 
and gentle affections. But I could not think so. I disliked thr 
man — instinctively disliked and distrusted him ; for I could 
assign no very positive motive for my antipathy. 


“ The reason why, I cannot tell, 
But I don’t like thee, Dr. Fell.” 


These lines indicate an unconquerable feeling which most per 
sons have, I presume, experienced ; and which frequently, I 
think, results from a kind of cuirulative evidence of unconge- 
niality or unworthiness, made up of a number of slight indices 
of character, which, separately, may appear of little moment, 
but altogether, produce a strong, if undefinable, feeling of aver- 
sion. Mr. Harlowe’s manners were bland, polished, and insinu- 
ating ; his conversation was sparkling and instructive ; but a 
cold sneer seemed to play habitually about his lips, and at times 
there glanced forth a concentrated, polished ferocity — so to 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


Ill 


speak — from his eyes, revealing hard and stony depths, which I 
shuddered to think a being so pure and gentle as Edith might 
be doomed to sound and fathom. That he was a man of strong 
passions and determination of will, was testified by every curve 
of his square, massive head, and every line of his full coun- 
tenance. 

My aversion — reasonable or otherwise, as it might be — was 
not shared by Miss Willoughby ; and it was soon apparent that, 
fascinated, intoxicated by her extreme beauty (the man was, I 
felt, incapable of love in its high, generous, and spiritual sense), 
Mr. Harlowe had determined on offering his hand and fortune 
to the unportioned orphan. He did so, and was accepted. I 
did not conceal my dislike of her suitor from Edith ; and ray 
wife — who, with feminine exaggeration of the hints I threw out, 
had set him down as a kind of polished human tiger — with tears 
intreated her to avoid the glittering snare. We of course had 
neither right nor power to push our opposition beyond friendly 
warning and advice ; and when we found, thanks to Lady Mal- 
don, who was vehemently in favor of the match — to, in Edith’s 
position, the dazzling temptation of a splendid establishment, 
and to Mr. Harlowe’s eloquent and impassioned pleadings — that 
the rich man’s offer was irrevocably accepted, we of course fore- 
bore from continuing a useless and irritating resistance. Lady 
Maldon had several times very plainly intimated that our aver- 
sion to the marriage arose solely from a selfish desire of retain- 
ing the services of her charming relative ; so prone are the 
mean and selfish to impute meanness and selfishness to others. 

I might, however, I refiected, be of service to Miss Wil- 
loughby, by securing for her such a marriage settlement as 
would place her beyond the reach of one possible consequence 
of caprice and change. I spoke to Mr Harlowe on the subject *, 


112 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


and he, under the influence of headstrong, eager passion, gave 
me, as I expected, carte Uanche. I availed myself of the license 
so readily afforded : a deed of settlement was drawn up, signed, 
sealed, and attested in duplicate the day before the wedding ; 
and Edith Willoughby, as far as wealth and position in society 
were concerned, had undoubtedly made a surprisingly good 
bargain. 

It happened that just as Lady Maldon, Edith Willoughby, 
and Mr. Harlowe were leaving my chambers after the execution 
of the deed, Mr. Ferret the attorney appeared on the stairs. 
His hands were full of papers, and he was, as usual, in hot 
haste ; but he stopped abruptly as his eye fell upon the depart- 
ing visitors, looked with startled earnestness at Miss Willoughby, 
whom he knew, and then glanced at Mr. Harlowe with an ex- 
pression of angry surprise. That gentleman, who did not 
appear to recognize the new-comer, returned his look with a 
supercilious, contemptuous stare, and passed on with Edith — 
who had courteously saluted the inattentive Mr. Ferret — fol- 
lowed by Lady Maldon. 

“ What is the meaning of that ominous conjunction de- 
manded Mr. Ferret as the afl&anced pair disappeared together. 

“ Marriage, Mr. Ferret ! Do you know any just cause or 
impediment why they should not be joined together in holy 
wedlock 

“ The fellow’s wife is dead then 

“Yes; she died about a twelvemonth ago. Did you know 
her 

“ Not personally ; by reputation only. A country attorney, 
Richards of Braintree, for whom I transact London business 
sent me the draught of a deed of separation — to which the un- 
fortunate lady, rather than continue to live with her husband, 


113 


THE MARRlAaS « K T T L E M E If T . 


had consented — ^for counsel’s opinion. I had an interview with 
Mr. Harlowe himself upon the business ; but I see he affects to 
have forgotten me. I do not know much of the merits of the 
ca'kj, but according to Richards — no great shakes of a fellow, 
between ourselves — the former Mrs. Harlowe was a martyr to 
her husband’s calculated virulence and legal — at least not U- 
leg-d, a great distinction, in my opinion, though not so set down 
in the books — despotism. He espoused her for her wealth ; 
th ;t secured, he was desirous of ridding himself of the incum- 
bi ince to it. A common case ! — and now, if you please, to 
biisiness.” 

C excused myself, as did my wife, from being present at the 
W'idding ; but everything, I afterwards heard, passed off with 
great idat. The bridegroom was all fervor and obsequious- 
ness ; the bride all bashfulness and beauty. The “ happy pair,” 
I saw by the afternoon newspapers, were to pass the honeymoon 
at Mr. Harlowe’s seat, Fairdown Park. The evening of the 
marriage-day was anything, I remember, but a pleasant one to 
me. I reached home by no means hilariously disposed, where I 
was greeted, by way of revival, with the intelligence that my 
wife, after listening with great energy to Lady Maldon’s descrip- 
tion of the wedding festivities for two tremendous hours, had at 
last been relieved by copious hysteria, and that Mary and Kate 
were in a fair way — if the exploit could be accomplished by 
perseverance — of crying themselves to sleep. These were our 
bridal compliments ; much more flattering, I imagine, if not 
quite so honey-accented, as the courtly phrases with which the 
votaries and the victims of Hymen are alike usually greeted. 

Time, business, worldly hopes and cares, the triumphs and 
defeats of an exciting profession, gradually weakened the impres- 
sion made upon me by the gentle virtues of Edith Willoughby $ 


4 , 


114 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


and when, about fifteen months after the wedding, my wife in- 
formed me that she had been accosted by Mrs. Harlowe at 
a shop in Bond Street, my first feeling was one of surprise, not 
untinged with resentment, for what I deemed her ungrateful 
neglect. 

“ She recognized you then I remarked. 

“ Recognized me ! What do you mean 

“ I thought perhaps she might have forgotten your features, 
as she evidently has our address.” 

“ If you had seen,” replied my wife, “ how pale, how cold, 
how utterly desolate she looked, you would think less hardly of 
her. As soon as she observed me, a slight scream escaped her ; 
and then she glanced eagerly and tremblingly around like a 
startled fawn. Her husband had passed out of the shop to give, 
I think, some direction to the coachman. She tottered towards 
me, and clasping me in her arms, bm-st into a passion of tears. 
“ Oh, why — why,” I asked as soon as I could speak, “ why 
have you not written to us .?” “I dared not !” she gasped. 
“ But oh tell me, do you — does your husband remember me 
with kindness ? Can I still reckon on his protection — his sup- 
port .^” I assured her you would receive her as your own child : 
the whispered words had barely passed my lips, when Mr. Har- 
lowe, who had swiftly approached us unperceived, said, “ Madam, 
the carriage waits.” His stern, pitiless eye glanced from his 
wife to me, and stiffly bowing, he said, “ Excuse me for inter- 
rupting your conversation ; but time presses. Grood-day.” A 
minute afterwards, the carriage drove off. 

I was greatly shocked at this confirmation of my worst fears ; 
and I meditated with intense bitterness on the fate of a being of 
such meek tenderness exposed to the heartless brutalities of a 
sated sensualist like Harlowe. But what could be done ? She 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


115 


had chosen, deliberately, and after warning, chosen her lot, and 
must accept the consequences of her choice In all th(^ strong 
statutes, and sharp biting laws of England, there can be found 
no clause wherewith to shield a woman from the “ regulated” 
meanness and despotism of an unprincipled husband. Resigna- 
tion is the sole remedy, and therein the patient must minister to 
herself. 

On the morning of the Sunday following Edith’s brief inter- 
view with my wife, and just as we were about to leave the 
house to attend divine service, a cab drove furiously up to the 
door, and a violent summons by both knocker and bell announced 
the arrival of some strangely-impatient visitor I stepped out 
upon the drawing-room landing, and looked over the banister 
rail, curious to ascertain who had honored me with so peremp- 
tory a call. The door was quickly opened, and in ran, or 
rather staggered, Mrs. Harlowe, with a child in long clothes in 
her arms. 

“ Shut — shut the door !” she faintly exclaimed, as she sank 
on one of the hall seats. “ Pray shut the door — I am pursued !” 

I hastened down, and was just in time to save her from fall- 
ing on the floor. She had fainted. I had her carried up stairs, 
and by the aid of proper restoratives, she gradually recovered 
consciousness. The child, a girl about four months old, was 
seized upon by Mary and Kate, and carried off in triumph to 
the nursery. Sadly changed, indeed, as by the sickness of the 
soul, was poor Edith. The radiant flush of youth and hope 
rendering her sweet face eloquent of joy and pride, was replaced 
by the cold, sad hues of wounded affections and proud despair. 
I could rend in her countenance, as in a book, the sad record of 
long months of wearing sorrow, vain regrets, and bitter self- 
reproach. Her person, too, had lost its rounded, airy, gracefiil 


116 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


outline, and had become thin and angular. Her voice, albeit, 
was musical and gentle as ever, as she murmured, on recovering 
her senses, “ You will protect me from my — from that man P* 
As I warmly pressed her hand, in emphatic assurance that I 
would shield her against all comers, another loud summons was 
heard at the door. A minute afterwards, a servant entered, and 
announced that Mr. Harlowe waited for me below. I directed 
he should be shown into the library ; and after iterating my as- 
surance to Edith that she was quite safe from violence beneath 
my roof, and that I would presently return to hear her explana- 
tion of the affair, I went down stairs. 

Mr. Harlowe, as I entered, was pacing rapidly up and 
down the apartment. He turned to face me ; and I thought 
he looked even more perturbed and anxious than vengeful 
and angry. He, however, as I coldly bowed, and demanded 
his business with me, instantly assumed a bullying air and 
tone. 

‘‘ Mrs. Harlowe is here : she has surreptitiously left South 
Audley Street in a hired cab, and I have traced her to this 
house.” 

“ Well 

“ Well ! I trust it is well ; and I insist that she instantly 
return to her home.” 

“ Her home ! ” 

I used the word with an expression significative only of my 
sense of the sort of “ home” he had provided for the gentle 
girl he had sworn to love and cherish ; but the random shaft 
found a joint in his armor at which it was not aimed. He 
visibly trembled, and turned pale. 

“ She has had time to tell you all then ’ But be assured, 
flir, that nothing she has heard or been told, however true it 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


117 


may b3 — may be, remember, I say — can be legally substantiated 
except by myself.” 

What could the man mean } I was fairly puzzled : but, 
professionally accustomed to conceal emotions of surprise and 
bewilderment, I coldly replied — ‘‘ I have left the lady who has 
sought the protection of her true ‘ home,’ merely to ascertain 
the reason of this visit.” 

“ The reason of niy visit !” he exclaimed with renewed fury : 
“ to reconvey her to South Audley Street. What else } If 
you refuse to give her up, I shall apply to the police.” 

I smiled, and approached the bell. 

“ You will not surrender her then 

“ To judicial process only : of that be assured. I have little 
doubt that, when I am placed in full possession of all the facts 
of the case, I shall be quite able to justify my conduct.” He 
did not reply, and I continued : “If you choose to wait here till 
I have heard Edilh’s statement, I will at once frankly acquaint 
you with my final determination.” 

“ Be it so : and please to recollect, sir, that you have to deal 
with a man not easily baffled or entrapped by legal subtlety or 
cunning.” 

I reascended to the drawing-room ; and finding Edith — 
thanks to the ministrations, medicinal and oral, of my bustling 
and indignant lady — much calmer, and thoroughly satisfied that 
nobody could or should wrest her from us, begged her to relate 
unreservedly the cause or causes which had led to her present 
position. She falteringly complied ; and I listened with throb- 
bing pulse and burning cheeks to the sad story of her wedded 
wretchedness, dating from within two or three months of the 
marriage ; and finally consummated by a disclosure that, if 
jirovable, might consign Harlowe to the hulks. The tears, th# 


118 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


agony, the despair of the unhappy lady, excited in me a savage- 
ness of feeling, an eager thirst for vengeance, which I had 
believed foreign to my nature. Edith divined my thoughts, and 
taking my hand, said, “ Never, sir, never will I appear against 
him : the father of my little Helen shall never be publicly 
accused by me.” 

“ You err, Edith,” I rejoined ; “ it is a positive duty to 
bring so consummate a villain to justice. He has evidently 
calculated on your gentleness of disposition, and must be 
disappointed.” 

I soon, however, found it was impossible to shake her resolu- 
tion on this point ; and I returned with a heart fiill of grief and 
bitterness to Mr. Harlowe 

“ You will oblige me, sir,” I exclaimed as I entered the 
room, “ by leaving this house immediately : I would hold no 
further converse with so vile a person.” 

“ How ! Do you know to whom you presume to speak in 
this manner .?” 

“ Perfectly. You are one Harlowe, who, after a few months’ 
residence with a beautiful and amiable girl, had extinguished 
the passion which induced him to offer her marriage, showered 
on her every species of insult and indignity of which a cowardly 
and malignant nature is capable ; and who, finding that did not 
kill her, at length consummated, or revealed, I do not yet know 
which term is most applicable, his utter baseness by causing her 
to be informed that his first wife was still living.” 

“ Upon my honor, sir, I believed, when I married Miss Wil 
loughby, that I was a widower.” 

“ Your honor ! But except to prove that I do thoroughly 
know and appreciate the person I am addressing, I will not 
bandy words with you. After that terrible disclosure — if, 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


119 


ii'deed, it be a disclosure, not an invention Ab, you start 

at that 

“ At your insolence, sir ; not at your senseless surmises.” 

Time and the law will show. After, I repeat, this terrible 
disclosure or invention, you, not content with obtaining from 
your victim’s generosity a positive promise that she would no^- 
send you to the hulks” • 

“ Sir, have a care.” 

“ Pooh ' I say, not content with exacting this promise from 
your victim, you, with your wife, or accomplice, threatened not 
only to take her child from her, but to lock her up in a mad- 
house, unless she subscribed a paper, confessing that she knew, 
when you espoused her, that you were a married man. Now? 
sir, do I, or do I not, thoroughly know who and what the man 
is I am addressing .?” 

“ Sir,” returned Harlowe, recovering his audacity somewhat. 
“ spite of all your hectoring and abuse, I defy you to obtain 
proof — legal proof — whether what Edith has heard is true or 
false. The affair may perhaps be arranged : let her return with 
me.” 

“You know she would die first : but it is quite useless to 
prolong this conversation ; and I again request you to leave this 
house.” 

“ If Miss Willoughby would accept an allowance” 

The cool audacity of this proposal to make me an instrument 
in compromising a felony exasperated me beyond all bounds. I 
rang the bell violently, and desired the servant who answered it 
to show Mr. Harlowe out of the house. Finding further per- 
sistence useless, the baffled villain snatched up his hat, and with 
a 'look and gesture of rage and contempt, hurried out of the 
apartment 


120 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT 


The profession of a barrister necessarily begets habits of 
coolness and reflection under the most exciting circumstances ; 
but, I confess, that in this instance my ordinary equanimity was 
so much disturbed, that it was some time before I could com- 
mand sufficient composure to reason calmly upon the strange 
revelations made to me by Edith, and the nature of the measures 
necessary to adopt in order to clear up the mystery attaching to 
them. She persisted in her refusal to have recourse to legal 
measures with a view to the punishment of Harlowe ; and I 
Anally determined — after a conference with Mr. Ferret, who, 
having apted for the first Mrs. Harlowe, I naturally conjectured 
must know something of her history and connections — to take 
for the present no ostensible steps in the matter. Mr. Ferret, 
like myself, was persuaded that the sham resuscitation of his 
first wife was a mere trick, to enable Harlowe to rid himself of 
the presence of a woman he no longer cared for. “ I will take 
an opportunity,” said Mr. Ferret, “of quietly questioning 
Richards : he must have known the first wife ; Eleanor Wick- 
ham, I remember, was her maiden name ; and if not bought 
over by Harlowe — a by-no-means impossible purchase — can set 
us right at once. I did not understand that the said Eleanor 
was at all celebrated for beauty and accomplishments, such as 
you say Miss Willoughby — Mrs. Harlowe, I mean — describes. 
She was a native of Dorsetshire too, I remember ; and the 
foreign Italian accent you mention, is rarely, I fancy, picked up 
in that charming county. Some flashy opera-dancer, depend 
upon it, whom he has contracted a passing fancy for : a slippery 
gentleman certainly ; but, with a little caution, we shall not fail 
to trip his heels up, clever as he may be.” 

A stronger wrestler than either of us was upon the liack of 
the unhappy man. Edith had not been with us above three 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT 


131 


weeks, when one of Mr. Harlowe’s servants called at niy cham- 
bers to say that his master, in consequence of a wound he had 
inflicted on his foot with an axe, whilst amusing himself with 
cutting or pruning some trees in the grounds at Fairdown, was 
seriously ill, and had expressed a wish to see me. I could not 
leave town ; but as it was important Mr. Harlowe should be 
seen, I requested Mr. Ferret to proceed to Fairdown House. 
He did so, and late in the evening returned with the startling 
intelligence that Mr. Harlowe was dead ! 

“ Dead !” I exclaimed, much shocked. “ Are you serious 
“ As a judge. He expired, about an hour after I reached 
the house, of tetanus^ commonly called locked-jaw. His body, 
by the contraction of the muscles, was bent like a bow, and 
rested on his heels and the back part of his head. He was in- 
capable of speech long before I saw him ; but there was a 
world of agonized expression in his eyes !” 

“ Dreadlul ! Your journey was useless then 
“ Not precisely. I saw the pretended former wife : a splendid 
woman, and as much Eleanor Wickham of Dorsetshire as I am. 
They mean, however, to show fight, I think ; for, as I left the 
place, I observed that delightful knave Richards enter the 
house. I took the liberty of placing seals upon the desks and 
cabinets, and directed the butler and Other servants to see that 
nothing was disturbed or removed till Mrs. Harlowe’s — the true 
Mrs. Harlowe’s — arrival.” 

The funeral was to take place on the following Wednesday; 
and it was finally arranged that both of us would accompany 
Edith to Fairdown on the day after it had taken place, and adopt 
such measures as circumstances might render necessary. Mr. 
Ferret wrote to this effect to all parties concerned. 

On arriving at the hpuse, I, Ferret, and Mrs Harlowe, 


122 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


proceeded at once to the drawing-room, where we found the 
pretended wife seated in great state, supported on one side by 
Mr. Richards, and on the other by Mr. Quillet the eminent 
proctor. Edith was dreadfully agitated, and clung frightened 
and trembling to my arm. I conducted her to a seat, and 
placed myself beside her, leaving Mr. Ferret — ^whom so tre- 
mendous an array of law and learning, evincing a determination 
to fight the mattei out a Voutrance^ filled with exuberant glee — 
to open the confeience. 

“ Good-morning, madam,” cried he, the moment he entered 
the room, and quite unaffected by the lady’s scornful and 
haughty stare : “ good-morning ; I am delighted to see you in 
such excellent company. You do not, I hope, forget that I 
once had the honor of transacting business for you 

“You had transactions of my business !” said the lady, 

When, I pray you 

“ God bless me !” cried Ferret, addressing Richards, “ what 
a charming Italian accent ; and out of Dorsetshire too !” 

“ Dorsetshire, sir exclaimed the lady. 

“ Ay, Dorsetshire, to be sure. Why, Mr. Richards, our re- 
spected client appears to have forgotten her place of birth ! 
How very extraordinary !” 

Mr. Richards now interfered, to say that Mr. Ferret was ap- 
parently laboring under a strange misapprehension. “ This 
lady,” continued he, “ is Madame Giulletta Corelli.” 

“ Whe — e — e — w !” rejoined Ferret, thrown for an instant 
off his balance by the suddenness of the confession, and perhaps 
a little disappointed at so placable a termination of the dispute — 
“ Giulletta Corelli ! What is the meaning of this array 
then 

“ 1 am glad, madam,” said I, interposing for the first time in 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT 


123 


the conversation, “ for your own sake, that you have been ad- 
vised not to persist in the senseless as well as iniquitous scheme 
devised by the late Mr. Harlowe ; but this being the case, I am 
greatly at a loss to know why either you or these legal gentle- 
men are here 

The brilliant eyes of the Italian flashed with triumphant 
scorn, and a smile of contemptuous irony curled her beautiful 
lip as she replied — “ These legal gentlemen will not have much 
difficulty in explaining my right to remain in my own house.” 

“ Your house 

“ Precisely, sir,” replied Mr. Quillet. “ This mansion, 
together with all other property, real and personal, of which 
the deceased Henry Harlowe died possessed, is bequeathed by 
will — dated about a month since — to this lady, Giulletta 
Corelli.” 

“A will !” exclaimed Mr. Ferret with an explosive shout, 
and turning to me, whilst his sharp gray eyes danced with irre- 
pressible mirth — “ Did I not tell you so .?” 

“ Your usual sagacity, Mr. Ferret, has not in this instance 
failed you. Perhaps you will permit me to read the will } But 
before I do so,” continued Mr. Quillet, as he drew his gold- 
rimmed spectacles from their morocco sheath — “ you will allow 
me, if you please, to state that the legatee, delicately apprecia- 
ting the position of the widow, will allow her any reasonable 
annuity — say flve hundred pounds per annum for life.” 

“ Will she really though cried Mr. Ferret, boiling over 
with ecstacy. “ Madam, let me beg of you ‘io confirm this 
gracious promise.” 

‘‘ Certainly I do ’’ 

“ Capital ! — glorious !” rejoined Ferret ; and I thought he 
was about to perform a saltatory movement, that must have 


124 


THE M A RRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


brought his cranium into damaging contact with the chandelier 
under which he was standing. “ Is it not delightful f ITow 
every one — especially an attorney — loves a generous givei !” 

Mr. Richards appeared to be rendered somewhat uneasy by 
these strange demonstrations. He knew Ferret well, and 
evidently suspected that something was wrong somewhere. 
“ Perhaps, Mr. Quillet,” said he, “ you had better read the 
will at once.” 

“ This was done : the instrument devised in legal and minute 
form all the property, real and personal, to Giulletta Corelli — a 
natural-born subject of his majesty, it appeared, though of 
foreign parentage, and of partially foreign education. 

“ Allow me to say,” broke in Mr. Ferret, interrupting me as 
I was about to speak — “ allow me to say, Mr. Richards, that 
that wiU does you credit : it is, I should say, a first-rate affair, 
for a country practitioner especially. But of course you sub- 
mitted the draught to counsel .^” 

“ Certainly I did,” said Richards tartly. 

No doubt — no doubt. Clearness and precision like that 
could only have proceeded from a master’s hand. I shall take 
a copy of that will, Richards, for future guidance, you may 
depend, the instant it is registered in Doctors’ Commons.” 

“ Come, come, Mr. Ferret,” said I ; ‘‘ this jesting is all 
very well ; but it is quite time the farce should end.” 

“ Farce !” exclaimed Mr. Richards. 

“ Farce !” growled doubtful Mr. Quillet. 

“ Farce !” murmured the beautiful Giulletta. 

“ Farce !” cried Mr. Ferret. “ My dear sir, it is about one 
of the most charming and genteel comedies ever enacted on any 
stage, and the principal part, too, by one of the most charming 
of prima donnas. Allow me, sir — don’t interrupt me ! it Ls too 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


12d 


delicious to be shared ; it is, indeed. Mr. Richards, and you, 
Mr. Quillet, will you permit me to observe that this admirable 
will has one slight defect 
“ A defect ! — where — how 

“It is really heart-breaking that so much skill and ingenuity 
should be thrown away ; but the fact is, gentlemen, that the 
excellent person who signed it had no property to bequeath !’* 


“ How 



“ Not a shilling’s worth Allow 


This piece of parchment, gentlemen, is, I have the pleasure to 
inform you, a marriage settlement.” 

“ A marriage settlement !” exclaimed both the men of law 
in a breath. 

“ A marriage settlement, by which, in the event of Mr 
Harlowe’s decease, his entire property passes to his wife, in 
trust for the children, if any ; and if not, absolutely to hersell*.” 
Ferret threw the deed on the table, and then giving way to con- 
vulsive mirth, threw himself upon the sofa, and fairly shouted 
with glee. 

Mr Quillet seized the document, and, with Richards, eagerly 
perused it. The proctor then rose, and bowing gravely to hi* 
astonished client, said, “ The will, madam, is waste paper. 
You have been deceived.” He then left the apartment. 

The consternation of the lady and her attorney may be con 
ceived. Madam Corelli, giving way to her fiery passions, vented 
her disappointment in passionate reproaches of the deceased ; 
the only effect of which was to lay bare still more clearly than 
before her own cupidity and folly, and to increase Edith’s pain- 
ful agitation. I led her down stairs to my wife, who, I omitted 
to mention, had accompanied us from town, and remained in 
the library with the children during om* conference. In a very 


126 


THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 


short time afterwards Mr. Ferret had cleared the house of itf 
intrusive guests, and we had leisure to offer our condolences 
and congratulations to our grateful and interesting client. It 
was long before Edith recovered her former gaiety and health ; 
and I doubt if she would ever have thoroughly regained her old 
cheerfulness and elasticity of mind, had it not been for her labor 
of love in superintending and directing the education of her 
daughter Helen, a charming girl, who fortunately inherited 
nothing from her father but his wealth. The last time I remem- 
ber to have danced was at Helen's wedding. She married a 
distinguished Irish gentleman, with whom, and her mother, I 
perceive by the newspapers, she appeared at Queen Victoria’s 
court in Dublin, one, I am sure, of the brightest stars which 
glittered in that galaxy of beauty and fashion 


THE SECOND MARRIAGE 


A BUSY day in the assize court at Chester, chequered, as usual, 
by alternate victory and defeat, had just terminated, and I was 
walking briskly forth, when an attorney of rather low caste iu 
his profession — ^being principally employed as an intermediary 
between needy felons and the counsel practising in the Crown 
Com't — accosted me, and presented a brief ; at the same time 
tendering the fee of two guineas marked upon it. 

“ I am engaged to-morrow, Mr. Barnes,” I exclaimed a little 
testily, “ on the civil side : besides, you know I very seldom 
take briefs in the Crown Court, even if proffered in due time ; 
and to-morrow will be the last day of the assize in Chester ! 
There are plenty of unemployed counsel who will he glad of 
your brief.” 

“ It is a brief in an action of ejectment,” replied the attor- 
ney — “ Woodley versus Thorndyke ; and is brought to recover 
possession of a freehold estate now held and farmed by the 
defendant. ” 

“ An action of ejectment to recover possession of a freehold 
estate ! defended, too, I know, by a powerful bar ; for I wa^ 

offered a brief, but declined it. Mr. P leads ; and you 

bring me this for the plaintiff, and at the last moment too ’ 
You must be crazed.” 

“ I told the plaintiff and her grandfather,” rejoined Mr. 
Barnes, “ that it was too late to bespeak counsel’s attention to 
9 


128 


THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 


the case ; and that the fee, all they have, with much difficulty, 
been able to raise, was ridiculously small ; but they insisted on 
my applying to you Oh, here they are !” 

We had by this time reached the street, and the attorney 
pointed towards two figures standing in attitudes of anxious 
suspense near the gateway. It was dusk, but there was quite 
sufficient light to distinguish the pale and interesting features of 
a young female, dressed in faded and scanty mourning, and 
accompanied by a respectable-looking old man with white hair, 
and a countenance deeply furrowed by age and grief. 

“I told you. Miss Woodley,” said the attorney, “that this 
gentleman would decline the brief, especially with such a 
fee ” 

“ It is not the fee, man !” I observed, for I was somewhat 
moved by the appealing dejection exhibited by the white-haired 
man and his timid grand-daughter ; “ but what chance can I 
have of establishing this person’s right — if right she have — to 
the estate she claims, thus suddenly called upon to act without 
previous consultation ; and utterly ignorant, except as far as this 
I perceive hastily-scrawled brief will instruct me, both of the 
nature of the plaintiff’s claim and of the defence intended to 
be set up against it 

“ If you would undertake it, sir,” said the young woman with 
a tremulous, hesitating voice and glistening eyes, “ for his sake ” 
— and she glanced at her aged companion — “ who will else bo 
helpless, homeless.” 

“ The blessing of those who are ready to perish will be yours, 
sir,” said the grandfather with meek solemnity, “ if you will 
lend your aid in this work of justice and mercy. We have no 
hope of withstanding the masterful violence and wrong of wicked 
and powerful men except by the aid of the law, which wo have 


THE SECOND marriage. 


129 




been taught will ever prove a strong tower of defence to those 
who walk in the paths of peace and right.” 

The earnestness of the old man’s language and manner, and 
the pleading gentleness of the young woman, forcibly impressed 
me ; and, albeit, it was a somewhat unprofessional mode of 
business, I determined to hear their story from their own lips, 
rather than take it from the scrawled brief, or through the ver- 
bal medium of their attorney. 

‘‘ You have been truly taught,” I answered ; “ and if really 
entitled to the property you claim, I know of no masterful men 
that in this land of England can hinder you from obtaining pos- 
session of it. Come to my hotel in about an hour and a-half 
from hence : I shall then have leisure to hear what you have 
to say. This fee,” I added, taking the two guineas from the 
hand of the attorney, who still held the money ready for my 
acceptance, “ you must permit me to return. It is too much for 
you to pay for losing your cause ; and if I gain it — but mind I 
do net promise to take it into court unless I am thoroughly sat- 
isfied you have right and equity on your side — I shall expect a 
much heavier one. Mr. Barnes, I will see you, if you please, 
early in the morning.” I then bowed, and hastened on. 

Dinner was not ready when I arrived at the hotel ; and during 
the short time I had to wait, I more than half repented of 
having had anything to do with this unfortunate suit. However, 
the pleadings of charity, the suggestions of human kindness, reas- 
serted their influence ; and by the time my new clients arrived, 
which they did very punctually at the hour I had indicated, I 
had quite regained the equanimity I had momentarily lost, and, 
thanks to mine host’s excellent viands and generous wine, was, 
for a lawyer, in a very amiable and benevolent humor indeed. 

Our conference was long, anxious, and unsatisfactory. I was 


30 


THE BECOND MARRIAGE. 


obliged to send for Barnes before it concluded, in order to 
thoroughly ascertain the precise nature of the case intended to 
be set up for the defendant, and the evidence likely to be ad- 
duced in support of it.. No ray of consolation or of hope came 
from that quarter. Still, the narrative I had just listened to, 
bearing as it did the impress of truth and sincerity in every 
sentence, strongly disposed me to believe that foul play has 
been practised by the other side ; and I determined, at all haz- 
ards, to go into court, though with but faint hope indeed of a 
present successM issue. 

“ It appears more than probable,” I remarked on dismissing 
my clients, “ that this will is a fabrication ; but before such a 
question had been put in issue before a jury, some producible 
evidence of its being so should have been sought for and ob- 
tained. As it is, I can only watch the defendant’s proof of the 
genuineness of the instrument upon which he has obtained pro- 
bate : one or more of the attesting witnesses may^ if fraud has 
been practised, break down under a searching cross-examination, 
or incidentally perhaps disclose matter for further investiga- 
tion.” 

“ One of the attesting witnesses is, as I have already told you, 
dead,” observed Barnes; “and another, Elizabeth Wareing, 
has, I hear, to-day left the country. An affidavit to that effect 
will no doubt be made to-morrow, in order to enable them to 
give secondary evidence of her attestation, though, swear as they 
may, I have not the slightest doubt I coTild find her if time 
were allowed, and her presence would at all avail us.” 

“ Indeed ! This is very important. Would you, Mr. Barnes, 
have any objection,” I added, after a few moments’ refiection, 
“ to make oath, should the turn of affairs to-morrow render your 
doing so desirable, of your belief that you could, reasonable time 


THE SECOND IIARRIAGE. 


131 


being allowed, procure the attendance of this woman— this 
Elizabeth Wareing ?” 

“Not the slightest : though how that would help us to invali 
date the will Thorndyke claims under I do not understand.” 

“ Perhaps not. At all events do not fail to be early in court. 
The cause is the first in to-morrow’s list, remember.” 

The story confided to me was a very sad, and, unfortunately 
in many of its features, a very common one. Ellen, the only 
child of the old gentleman, Thomas Ward, had early in life 
married Mr. James Woodley, a wealthy yeoman, prosperously 
settled upon his paternal acres, which he cultivated with great 
diligence and success. The issue of this marriage — a very 
happy one, I was informed — was Mary Woodley, the plaintifTin 
the present action. Mr. Woodley, who had now been dead 
something more than two years, bequeathed the whole of his 
property, real and personal, to his wife, in full confidence, as he 
expressed himself but a few hours before he expired, that she 
would amply provide for his and her child. The value of the 
property inherited by Mrs. Woodley under this will amounted, 
according to a valuation made a few weeks after the testator’s 
decease, to between eight and nine thousand pounds. 

Respected as a widow, comfortable in circumstances, and with 
a daughter to engage her affections, Mrs. Woodley might have 
passed the remainder of her existence in happiness. But how 
frequently do women pei il and lose all by a second marriage ! 
Such was the case with Mrs. Woodley : to the astonishment of 
everybody, she threw herself away on a man almost unknown 
in the district — a person of no fortune, of mean habits, and 
altogether unworthy of accepting as a husband. Silas Thorn 
dyke, to whom she thus committed her happiness, had for a short 
time acted as bailiflf on the farm ; and no sooner did he feel 


132 


THE SECOND M A R R I A G fi . 


himself master, than his subserviency was changed to selfish 
indifference, and that gradually assumed a coarser character. He 
discovered that the property, by the will of Mr. Woodley, was 
so secured against every chance or casualty to the use and 
enjoyment of his wife, that it not only did not pass by marriage 
to the new bridegroom, but she was unable to alienate or divest 
herself of any portion of it during life. She could, however, 
dispose of it by will ; but in the event of her dying intestate, 
the whole descended to her daughter, Mary Woodley. 

Incredibly savage was Thorndyke when he made that discov- 
ery ; and bitter and incessant were the indignities to which he 
subjected his unfortunate wife, for the avowed pmpose of forcing 
her to make a will entirely in his favor, and of course disinher- 
iting her daughter. These persecutions failed of their object. 
An unexpected, quiet, passive, but unconquerable resistance, 
was opposed by the, in all other things, cowed and submissive 
woman, to this demand of her domineering husband. Her fail- 
ing health — for gently nurtured and tendenderly cherished as 
she had ever been, the calous brutality of her husband soon told 
upon the unhappy creature — ^warned her that Mary would soon 
be an orphan, and that upon her firmness it depended whether 
the child of him to whose memory she had been, so fatally for 
herself, unfaithful, should be cast homeless and penniless upon 
the world, or inherit the wealth to which, by every principle of 
right and equity, she was entitled. Come what may, this trust 
at least should not, she mentally resolved, be betrayed or pal- 
tered with. Every imaginable expedient to vanquish her reso- 
lution was resorted to. Thorndyke picked a quarrel with Ward 
her father, who had lived at Hale Farm since the morrow of her 
marriage with Woodley, and the old gentleman was compelled 
to leave, and take up his abode with a distant and somewhat 


THE <(ECOND MARRIAGE. 


13b 


needy relative. Next Edward Wilford, the only son of a neigh- 
boring and prosperous farmer, who had been betrothed to Mary 
Woodley several months before her father’s death, was brutally 
insulted, and forbidden the house. All, however, failed to shake 
the mother’s resolution ; and at length, finding all his efforts 
fruitless, Thorndyke appeared to yield the point, and upon this 
subject at least ceased to harass his unfortunate victim. 

Frequent private conferences were now held between Thorn- 
dyke, his two daughters, and Elizabeth Wareing — a woman 
approaching middle-age, whom, under the specious pretence 
that Mrs. Thorndyke ’s increasing ailments rendered the services 
of an experienced matron indispensable, he had lately installed 
at the farm. It was quite evident to both the mother and 
daughter that a much greater degree of intimacy subsisted 
between the master and housekeeper than their relative positions 
warranted ; and from some expressions heedlessly dropped by 
the woman, they suspected them to have been once on terms of 
confidential intimacy. Thorndyke, I should have mentioned, 
was not a native of these parts : he had answered Mr. Wood- 
ley’s advertisement for a bailiff, and his testimonials appearing 
satisfactory, he had been somewhat precipitately engaged. A 
young man, calling himself Edward Wareing, the son of Eliza- 
beth Wareing, and said to be engaged in an attorney’s office in 
Liverpool, was also a not unfrequent visitor at Dale Farm ; and 
once he had the insolent presumption to address a note to Mai y 
Woodley, formally tendering his hand and fortune ! This, 
however, did not suit Mr. Thorndyke’s views, and Mr. Edward 
Wareing was very effectually rebuked and silenced by his pro- 
posed father-in-law. 

Mrs. Thorndyke’s health rapidly declined. The woman 
Wareing, touched possibly by sympathy or remorse, exhibited 


134 


THE SSCOrfD MARRIAGE. 


considerable tenderness and compassion towards the invalid; 
made her nourishing drinks, and administered the medicine 
prescribed by the village practitioner — who, after much delay 
and 'pooh^ poohing by Thorndyke, had been called in — with her 
own hands. About three weeks previous to Mrs. Thorndyke’s 
death, a sort of reconciliation was patched up through her instru- 
mentality between the husband and wife ; and an unwonted ex- 
pression of kindness and compassion, real or simulated, sat upon 
Thorndyke’s features every time he approached the dying 
woman. 

The sands of life ebbed swiftly with Mrs. Thorndyke. In- 
folded in the gentle but deadly embrace with which consumption 
seizes its victims, she wasted rapidly away ; and, most perplex- 
ing symptoms of all, violent retchings and nausea, especially 
after taking her medicine — which, according to Davis, the village 
surgeon, was invariable of a sedative character — aggravated and 
confirmed the fatal disease which was hurrying her to the tomb. 

Not once during this last illness could Mary Woodley, by 
chance or stratagem, obtain a moment’s private interview with 
her mother, until a few minutes before her decease. Until 
then, under one pretence or another, either Elizabeth Wareing, 
one of Thorndyke’s daughters, or Thorndyke himself, was 
always present in the sick-chamber. It was evening : darkness 
had for some time fallen : no light had yet been taken into the 
dying woman’s apartment ; and the pale starlight which faintly 
illumined the room served, as Mary Woodley softly approached 
on tiptoe to the bedside of her, as she supposed, sleeping parent, 
but to deepen by defining the shadows thrown by the full, heavy 
hangings, and the old massive furniture. Gently, and with a 
beating heart. Mary W oodley drew back the bed-curtain nearest 
the window. The feeble, uncertain light flickered upon the 


THE SECOND MAkRIAGE. 


136 


countenance, distinct in its mortal paleness, of her parent : the 
eyes recognized her, iftid a glance of infinite tenderness gleamed 
lor an instant in the rapidly-darkening orbs : the right arm 
essayed to lift itself, as for one fast, last embrace. Vainly ! 
Love, love only, was strong, stronger than death, in the expiring 
mother’s heart, and the arm fell feebly back on the bedclothes. 
Mary Woodley bent down in eager grief, for she felt instinctively 
that the bitter hour at last was come ; their lips met, and the 
last accents of the mother murmured, “ Beloved Mary, I — I 

have been true to you — no will — no ” A slight tremor 

shook her frame : the spirit that looked in love from the win- 
dows of the eyes departed on its heavenward journey, and the 
unconscious shell only of what had once been her mother re- 
mained in the sobbing daughter’s arms. 

I will not deny that this narrative, which I feel I have but 
coldly and feebly rendered from its earnest, tearful tenderness, 
as related by Mary Woodley, affected me considerably — case- 
hardened, as, to use an old bar-pun, we barristers are supposed 
to be ; nor will the reader be surprised to hear that suspicions, 
graver even than those which poinkd to forgery, were evoked 
by the sad history. Much musing upon the strange circum- 
stances thus disclosed, and profoundly cogitative on the best 
mode of action to be pursued, the “ small hours,” the first of 
them at least, surprised me in my arm-chair. I started up, and 
hastened to bed, well knowing from experience that a sleepless 
vigil is a wretched preparative for a morrow of active exertion, 
whether of mind or body. 

I was betimes in court the next morning, and Mr. Barnes, 
proud as a peacock of figuring as an attorney in an important 
civil suit, was soon at my side. The case had excited more 
interest than I had supposed, and the court was very early filled 


136 


THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 


Mary Woodley and her grandfather soon arrived ; and a mur- 
mur of commiseration ran through the auditory as they took 
their seats by the side of Barnes. There was a strong bar 
arrayed against us ; and Mr. Silas Thorndyke, I noticed, was 
extremely busy and important with whisperings and sugges- 
tions to his solicitor and counsel — received, of course, as such 
meaningless familiarities usually are, with barely civil indiflfer 
ence. 

Twelve common jurors were called and sworn well and truly 
to try the issue, and I arose amidst breathless silence to ad- 
dress them. I at once frankly stated the circumstances under 
which the brief had come into my hands, and observed, that if, 
for lack of advised preparation, the plaintiff’s case failed on 
that day, another trial, under favor of the court above, would, I 
doubt not, at no distant period of time reverse the possibly at 
present unfavorable decision. “ My learned friends on the 
other side,” I continued, “ smile at this qualified admission of 
mine : let them do so. If they apparently establish to-day the 
validity of a will which strips an only child of the inheritance 
bequeathed by her father, they will, I tell them emphatically, 
have obtained but a temporary triumph for a person who — if T, 
if you, gentlemen of the jury, are to believe the case intended 
to be set up as a bar to the plantiff’s claim — has succeeded by 
the grossest brutality, the most attrocious devices, in bending 
the mind of the deceased Mrs. Thorndyke to his selfish pur- 
poses. My learned friend need not interrupt me ; I shall pursui 
these observations for the present no further — merely adding 
that I, that his lordship, that you, gentlemen of the jury, will 
require of him the strictest proof— proof clear as light — that 
the instrument upon which he relies to defeat the equitable, the 
righteous claim of the young and amiable person by my side w 


THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 


137 


genuine, and not, as I verily believe ” — I looked, as I spoke, 
full in the face of Thorndyke — ‘‘ forged.” 

“ My lord,” exclaimed the opposing counsel, “ this is really 
insufferable !” 

His lordship, however, did not interpose ; and I went on to 
relate, in the most tolling manner of which I was capable, the 
history of the deceased Mrs. Thorndyke’s first and second mar- 
riages ; the harmony and happiness of the first — the wretched- 
ness and cruelty which characterized the second. I narrated 
also the dying words of Mrs. Thorndyke to her daughter, though 
repeatedly interrupted by the defendant’s counsel, who mani- 
fested great indignation that a statement unsusceptible of legal 
proof should be addressed to the court and jury. My address 
concluded, I put in James Woodley’s will ; and, as the opposing 
counsel did not dispute its validity, nor require proof of Mary 
Woodley’s identity, I intimated that the plaintiff’s case was 
closed. 

The speech for the defendant was calm and guarded. It 
threw, or rather attempted to throw, discredit on the death-bed 

“ fiction,” got up, Mr. P said, simply with a view to effect •, 

and he concluded by averring that he should be able to establish 
the genuineness of the will of Ellen Thorndyke, now produced, 
by irresistible evidence. That done, however much the jury 
might wish the property had been otherwise disposed of, they 
would of course return a verdict in accordance with their oaths 
and the law of the land. 

The first witness called was Thomas Headley, a smith, resid- 
ing near Dale Farm. He swore positively that the late Mrs. 
Thorndyke, whom he knew well, had cheerfully signed the will 
now produced, after it had been deliberately read over to her by 
her husband about a fortnight before her death. Silas Thom- 


138 


THE SBCCND MARRIAOB. 


dyke, John Cummins, Elizabeth Wareing, and witness, were the 
only persons present. Mrs. Thorndyke expressed confidence 
that her husband would provide for Mary Woodley. 

“ And so I will,” said sleek Silas, rising up and looking round 
upon the auditory. “ If she will return, I will be a father to 
her.” 

No look, no sound of sympathy or approval, greeted this 
generous declaration, and he sat down again not a little discon- 
certed. 

I asked this burly, half-drunken witness but one question — 
“ When is your marriage with Rebecca Thorndyke, the defend- 
ant’s eldest daughter, to be celebrated .?” 

“ I don’t know, Mr. Lawyer ; perhaps never.” 

‘‘ That will do ; you can go down.” 

Mr. P now rose to state that his client was unable to 

produce Elizabeth Wareing, another of the attesting witnesses 
to the will, in court. No suspicion that any opposition to the 
solemn testament made by the deceased Mrs. Thorndyke would 
be attempted, had been entertained ; t*nd the woman, unaware 
that her testimony would be required, had left that part of the 
country. Every efibrt had been made by the defendant to dis- 
cover her abode without effect. It was believed she had gone 
to America, where she had relatives. The defendant had filed 
an affidavit setting forth these facts, and it was now prayed that 
secondary evidence to establish the genuineness of Elizabeth 
rV areing’s attesting signature should be admitted. 

I of course vehemently opposed this demand, and broadly 
Innted that the witness was purposely kept out of the way. 

“ Will my learned friend,” said Mr. P with one of his 

sliest sneers, “ inform us what motive the defendant could pos- 
sibly have to keep back a witness so necessary to him ?” 


THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 


139 


“ Elizabeth Wareing,” I curtly replied, “ may not, upon 
reflection, be deemed a safe witness to subject to the ordeal of 
a cross-examination. But to settle the matter, my lord,” I 
exclaimed, “ I have here an affidavit of the plaintiff’s attorney, 
in which he states that he has no doubt of being able to find this 
important witness if time be allowed him for the purpose ; the 
defendant of course undertaking to call her when produced.” 

A tremendous clamor of counsel hereupon ensued, and fierce 
and angry grew the war of words. The hubbub was at last 
terminated by the judge recommending that, under the circum- 
stances, “ a juror should be withdrawn.” This suggestion, after 
some demur, was agreed to. One of the jurors was whispered 
to come out of the box ; then the clerk of the court exclaimed, 
“ My lord, there are only eleven men on the jury ;” and by the 
aid of this venerable, if clumsy expedient, the cause of Wood- 
ley versus Thorndyke was de facto adjourned to a future day. 

I had not long returned to the hotel, when I was waited upon 
by Mr. Wilford, senior, the father of the young man who had 
been forbidden to visit Dale Farm by Thorndyke. His son, he 
informed me, was ill from chagrin and anxiety — confined to his 
bed indeed ; and Mary Woodley had refused, it seemed, to 
accept pecuniary aid from either the father or the son. Would 
I endeavor to terminate the estrangement which had for -some 
time unhappily existed, and persuade her to accept his, Wilford 
senior’s, freely-offered purse and services } I instantly accepted 
both the mission and the large sum which the excellent man 
tendered. A part of the money I gave Barnes to stimulate his 
exertions, and the rest I placed in the hand of Mary Woodley’s 
grandpapa, with a friendly admonition to him not to allow his 
grandchild to make a fool of herself ; an exhortation which pro 
duced its eflfect in due season. 


140 


THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 


Summer passed away, autumn had come and gone, and the 
winter assizes were once more upon us. Regular proceedings 
had been taken, and the action in ejectment of Woodley versus 
Thorndyke was once more on the cause list of the Chester cir- 
cuit court, marked this time as a special jury case. Indefatiga- 
ble as Mr. Barnes had been in his search for Elizabeth Wareing, 
not the slightest trace of her could he discover ; and I went 
into court, therefore, with but slight expectation of invalidating 
the, as I fully believed, fictitious will. We had, however, ob- 
tained a good deal of information relative to the former history 
not only of the absent Mrs. Wareing, but of Thorndyke himself ; 
and it was quite within the range of probabilities that something 
might come out, enabling me to use that knowledge to good 
purpose. The plaintiff and old Mr. Ward were seated in court 
beside Mr. Barnes, as on the former abortive trial ; but Mary 
Woodley had, fortunately for herself, lost much of the interest 
which attaches to female comeliness and grace when associated 
in the mind of the spectator with undeserved calamity and 
sorrow. The black dress which she still wore — the orthodox 
twelve months of mourning for a parent had not yet quite 
elapsed — was now fresh, and of fine quality, and the pale lilies 
of her face were interspersed with delicate roses ; whilst by her 
side sat Mr. J ohu Wilford, as happy-looking as if no such things 
as perjurers, forgers, or adverse verdicts existed to disturb the 
peace of the glad world. Altogether, we were decidedly less 
interesting than on the former occasion. Edward Wareing, I 
must not omit to add, was, greatly to our surprise, present. He 
sat, in great apparent amity, by the side of Thorndike. 

It was late in the afternooon, and twilight was gradually steal- 
ing over the dingy court, when the case was called. The special 
jury answered to their names, were duly sworn, and then nearly 


THE SECOND MARRIAOE. 


14 


the same preliminary speeches and admissions were made and 
put in as on the previous occasion. Thomas Headley, the first 
witness called in support of the pretended will, underwent a 
rigorous cross-examination ; but I was unable to extract any- 
thing of importance from him. 

“ And now,” said the defendant’s leading counsel, “ let me 
ask my learned friend if he has succeeded in obtaining the 
attendance of Elizabeth Wareing 

I was of course obliged to confess that we had been unable to 
find her ; and the judge remarked that in that case he could 
receive secondary evidence in proof of her attestation of the 
will. 

A whispered but manifestly eager conference here took place 
between the defendant and his counsel, occasionally joined in by 
Edward Wareing. There appeared to he indecision or hesita- 
tion in their deliberations ; hut at last Mr. P- rose, and 

with some ostentation of manner addressed the court. 

“ In the discharge of my duty to the defendant in this action, 
my lord, upon whose fair fame much undeserved obloquy has 
been cast by the speeches of the plaintiff’s counsel — speeches 
insupported by a shadow of evidence — I have to state that, 
anxious above all things to stand perfectly justified before his 
neighbors and society, he has, at great trouble and expense, 
obtained the presence here to-day of the witness Elizabeth 
Wareing. She had gone to reside in France with a respectable 
English family in the situation of housekeeper. We shall now 
place her in the witness-box, and having done so, I trust we shaU 
hear no more of the slanderous imputations so freely laviwhed 
upon my client. Call Elizabeth Wareing into court.” 

A movement of surprise and curiosity agitated the entire 
auditory at this announcement. Mr. Silas Thorndyke’s naturally 


142 


THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 


cadaverous countenance assumed an ashy hue, spite of his efiforts 
to appear easy and jubilant ; and for the first time since the 
commencement of the proceedings I entertained the hope of a 
successful issue. 

Mrs. Wareing appeared in answer to the call, and was duly 
sworn “ to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
truth.” She was a good-looking woman, of perhaps forty years 
of age, and bore a striking resemblance to her son. She rapidly, 
smoothly, and unhesitatingly confirmed the evidence of Headley 
to a tittle. She trembled, I observed, excessively ; and on the 
examining counsel intimating that he had no more questions to 
ask, turned hastily to leave the box. 

“ Stay — stay, my good woman,” I exclaimed ; ‘‘ you and I 
must have some talk together before we part.” 

She started, and looked at me with frightened earnestness ; 
and then her nervous glances stole towards Mr. Silas Thorndyke. 
There was no comfort there : in his countenance she only saw 
the reflex of the agitation and anxiety which marked her own. 
Sleek Silas, I could see, already repented of the rash move he 
had made, and would have given a good deal to get his witness 
safely and quietly out of court. 

It was now nearly dark, and observing that it was necessary 
the court and jury should see as well as hear the witness whilst 
under examination, I requested that lights should be brought in. 
This was done. Two candles were placed in front of the witness- 
box, one on each side of Mrs. Wareing ; a few others were dis- 
posed about the bench and jury desks. The effect of this partial 
lighting of the gloomy old court was, that the witness stood out 
in strong and bright relief from the surrounding shadows, ren- 
dering the minutest change or play of her features distinctly 
visible. Mr. Silas Thorndyke was, from his position, thrown 


ME SECOND MARRIAGE. 


143 


entirely into the shade, and any telegraphing between him and 
the witness was thus rendered impossible. This preparation, 
as if for some extraordinary and solemn purpose, together with 
the profound silence which reigned in the court, told fearfully, 
as I expected, upon the nerves of Mrs. Elizabeth Wareing. She 
already seemed as if about to swoon with agitation and ill-defined 
alarm. 

“ Pray, madam,” said I, “ is your name Wareing or Tucker ’ 
She did not answer, and I repeated the question. “ Tucker,” 
she at last replied in a tremulous whisper. 

“ I thought so. And pray, Mrs. Tucker, were you ever ‘ in 
trouble ’ in London for robbing your lodgings .^” 

I thought she attempted to answer, but no sound passed hei 
lips. One of the ushers of the court handed her a glass of 
water at my suggestion, and she seemed to recover somewhat. 
I pressed my question ; and at last she replied in the same low, 
agitated voice, “ Yes, I have been.” 

“ I know you have. Mr. Silas Thorndyke, I believe, was your 
bail on that occasion, and the matter was, I understand, com- 
promised — arranged — at all events the prosecution was not 
pressed. Is not that so .^” 

‘‘ Yes — no — ^yes.” 

“ Very well: either answer will do. You lived also, I be- 
lieve, with Mr. Thorndyke, as his housekeeper of course, when 
he was in business as a concocter and vender of infallible drugs 
and pills .^” 

“ Yes.” 

“ He was held to be skilful in the preparation of drugs, was 
he not — well-versed in their properties .?” 

“ Yes — I believe so — I do not know. Why am I asked such 
questions ?” 


144 


THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 


“ You will know presently. And now, woman, answer the 
question I am about to put to you, as you will be compelled to 
answer it to God at the last great day — What was the nature 
of the drug which you or he mixed with the medicine prescribed 
for the late Mrs. Thorndyke 

A spasmodic shriek, checked by a desperate effort, partially 
escaped her, and she stood fixedly gazing with starting eyes in 
my face 

The profoundest silence reigned in the court as I iterated the 
question 

“ You must answer, woman,” said the judge sternly, “ unless 
you know your answer will criminate yourself.” 

The witness looked wildly round the court, as if in search of 
sounsel or sympathy ; but encountering none but frowning and 
eager faces — Thorndyke she could not discern in the darkness — 
she became giddy and panic-stricken, and seemed to lose all 
presence of mind. 

“ He — he — ^he,” she at last gasped — “ he mixed it. I do not 

tnow But how,” she added, pushing back her hair, and 

pressing her hands against her hot temples, “ can this be r 
What can it mean 

A movement amongst the bystanders just at this moment 
attracted the notice of the judge, and he immediately exclaimed, 
“ The defendant must not leave the court !” An officer placed 
himself beside tbe wretched murderer as well as forger, and 1 
resumed the cross-examination of the witness. 

“ Now, Mrs. Tucker, please to look at this letter.” (It was 
that which had been addressed to Mary Woodley by her son.) 
‘‘ That, I believe, is your son’s handwriting .?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ The body of this will has been written by the same hand. 


THE SECOND MARRIAGE 


146 


Now, woman, answer. Was it your son — this young man who, 
you perceive, if guilty, cannot escape from justice — was it he 
who forged the names of the deceased Mrs. Thorndyke. and of 
John Cummins attached to it 

“ Not he — not he !” shrieked the wretched woman. “ It was 
Thorndyke — Thorndyke himself” And then with a sudden 
revulsion of feeling, as the consequences of what she had uttered 
flashed upon her, she exclaimed, “ Oh, Silas, what have I said ? 
— what have I done 

Hanged me, that’s all, you accursed devil !” replied Thorn- 
dyke with gloomy ferocity. But I deserve it for trusting in 
such an idiot : dolt and fool that I was for doing so.” 

The woman sank down in strong convulsions, and was, by 
direction of the judge, carried out of the hall. 

The anxious silence which pervaded the court during thh* 
scene, in which the reader will have observed I played a hold, 
tentative, and happily-successful game, was broken as the wit-^ 
ness was borne off by a loud murmur of indignation, followed 
by congratulatory exclamations on the fortunate termination of 
the suit. The defendant’s counsel threw up their briefs, and a 
verdict was at once returned for the plaintiff. 

All the inculpated parties were speedily in custody ; and the 
body of Mrs. Thorndyke having been disinterred, it was discov- 
ered that she had been destroyed by bichloride of mercury, of 
which a considerable quantity was detected in the body. I was 
not present at the trial of Thorndyke and his accomplices — he 
for murder, and Headley for perjury — but I saw by the public 
prints that he was found guilty, and executed : Headley was 
transpoi ted : the woman was, if I remember rightly, admitted 
evidence for the crown. 

Mary Woodley was of course put into immediate possession 


146 


THE SECOND MARRIAOS. 


of her paternal inheritance ; and is now — at least she was about 
four months ago, when I dined with her and her husband at Dale 
Farm — a comely, prosperous matron ; and as happy as a woman 
with a numerous progeny and an easy-tempered partner can in 
this, according to romance writers, vale of grief and tears expect 
to be. The service I was fortunately enabled to render her 
forms one of the most pleasing recollections of my life. 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 

In the second year of my connection with the Northern Circuit, 
when even jvmior briefs were much less numerous than accept- 
able, I was agreeably surprised, as I sat musing on the evening 
of my arrival in the ancient city of Vork upon the capricious 
mode in which those powerful personages the attorneys dis- 
tributed their valuable favors, by the entrance of one of the 
most eminent of the race practising in that part of the country, 
and the forthwith tender of a bulky brief in the Crown Court, 
on which, as my glance instinctively fell on the interesting 
figures, I perceived that the large fee, in criminal cases, of fifty 
guineas was marked. The local newspapers, from which I had 
occasionally seen extracts, had been for some time busy with the 
case ; and I knew it therefore to be, relatively to the condition 
in life of the principal person implicated, an important one. 
Rumor had assigned the conduct of the defence to an eminent 
leader on the circuit — since, one of our ablest judges ; and on 
looking more closely at the brief, I perceived that that gentle- 
man’s name had been crossed out, and mine substituted. The 
fee also — a much less agreeable alteration — had been, I saw, 
considerably reduced ; in accordance, doubtless, with the attor- 
ney’s appreciation of the difference of value between a silk and 
a stuff gown. 

“ You are not, sir, I believe, retained for the prosecution in 


148 


tMRCUMSTANTIAL ETIDENCE. 


the crown against Everett r” said Mr. Sharpe in his brief, 
business manner. 

“ I am not, Mr. Sharpe.” 

“ In that case, I beg to tender you the leading-brief for the 
defence. It was intended, as you perceive, to place it in the 
hands of our great nisi jprius leader, but he will be so com- 
pletely occupied in that court, that he has been compelled to 
decline it. He mentioned you ; and from what I have myself 
seen of you in several cases, I have no doubt my unfortunate 
client will have ample justice done him. Mr. Kingston will be 
with you.” 

I thanked Mr. Sharpe for his compliment, and accepted his 
brief. As the commission would be opened on the following 
morning, I at once applied myself to a perusal of the bulky 
paper, aided as I read by the verbal explanations and commen- 
taries of Mr. Sharpe. Our conference lasted several hours ; 
and it was arranged that another should be held early the next 
morning at Mr. Sharpe’s oflBice, at which Mr. Kingston would 
assist. 

Dark, intricate, compassed with fearful mystery, was the case 
so suddenly submitted to my guidance ; and the few faint gleams 
of light derived from the attorney’s research, prescience, and 
sagacity, served but to render dimly visible a still profoundei 
and blacker abyss of crime than that disclosed by the evidence 
for the crown Young as I then was in the profession, no 
marvel that I felt oppressed by the weight of the responsibility 
cast upon me ; or that, when wearied with thinking, and dizzy 
with profitless conjecture, I threw myself into bed, perplexing 
images and shapes of guilt and terror pursued me through my 
troubled sleep ! Happily the next day was not that of trial j 
for I awoke with a throbbing pulse and burning brain, and 


circumstantial evidence 


14 ^ 


should have been but poorly prepared for a struggle involving 
the issues of life and death. Extremely sensitive, as, under the 
circumstances, I must necessarily have been, to the arduous 
uature of the grave duties so unexpectedly devolved upon me, 
the following resume oi’ the chief incidents of the case, as con- 
fided to me by Mr. Sharpe, will, I think, fully account to the 
reader for the nervous irritability under which I for the momen, 
labored 

Mr. Frederick Everett, the prisoner about to be arraigned 
before a jury of his countrymen for the frightful crime of mur- 
der, had, with his father. Captain Anthony Everett, resided for 
several years past at Woodlands Manor-House, the seat of Mrs. 
Eleanor Fitzhugh, a rich, elderly maiden lady, aunt to the first, 
and sister by marriage to the last-named gentleman. A gener- 
ous, pious, high-minded person Mrs. Fitzhugh was represented 
to have been, but extremely sensitive withal on the score of 
‘‘ family.” The Fitzhughs of Yorkshire, she was wont to boast, 
“ came in with the Conqueror and any branch of the glorious 
tree then firmly planted in the soil of England that degraded it- 
self by an alliance with wealth, beauty, or worth, dwelling with- 
out the pale of her narrow prejudices, was inexorably cut off 
from her affections, and, as far as she was able, from her 
memory. One — the principal of these offenders — had been 
Mary Fitzhugh, her young, fair, gentle, and only sister. In 
utter disdain and slight of the dignity of ancestry, she had 
chosen to unite herself to a gentleman of the name of Mordaunt, 
who, though possessed of great talents, an unspotted name, and, 
for his age, high rank in the civil service of the East India Com- 
pany, had — inexpiable misfortune — a trader for his grandfather ! 
This crime against her “ house” Mrs. Eleanor Fitzhugh re- 
solved never to forgive ; and she steadily returned, unopened, 


150 


CiRCUMStANti A L EVIDENCE. 


the frequent letters addressed to her by her sister, who pined in 
her distant Indian home for a renewal of the old sisterly love 
which had watched over and gladdened her life from infancy to 
womanhood. A long silence — a silence of many years — suc- 
ceeded ; broken at last by the sad announcement that the un- 
forgiven one had long since found an early grave in a foreign 
land. The letter which brought the intelligence bore the 
London post-mark, and was written by Captain Everett ; to 
whom, it was stated, Mrs. Eleanor Fitzhugh’s sister, early 
widowed, had been united in second nuptials, and by whom she 
had borne a son, Frederick Everett, now nearly twenty years of 
age. The long-pent-up affection of Mrs. Fitzhugh for her once 
idolized sister burst forth at this announcement of her death 
with uncontrollable violence ; and, as some atonement for her 
past sinful obduracy, she immediately invited the husband and 
son of her long-lost Mary to Woodlands Manor-House, to be 
henceforth, she said, she hoped their home. Soon after their 
arrival, Mrs. Fitzhugh made a will — the family property was 
entirely at her disposal — ^revoking a former one, which be- 
queathed the whole of the real and personal property to a dis- 
tant relative whom she had never seen, and by which all was 
devised to her nephew, who was immediately proclaimed sole 
heir to the Fitzhugh estates, yielding a yearly rental of at least 
£12,000. Nay, so thoroughly was she softened towards the 
memory of her deceased sister, that the will — of which, as 1 
have stated, no secret was made — provided, in the event of 
Frederick dying childless, that the property should pass to his 
father, Mary Fitzhugh’s second husband. 

No two persons could be more unlike than were the father 
and son — mentally, morally, physically. Frederick Everett 
was a ffiir-haired, blue-eyed young man, of amiable, caressing 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


151 • 


manners, gentle disposition, and ardent, poetic temperament. 
His father, on the contrary, was a dark-featured, cold, haughty, 
repulsive man, ever apparently wrapped up in selfish and moody 
reveries. Between him and his son there appeared to exist but 
little of cordial intercourse, although the highly-sensitive and 
religious ton^ of mind of Frederick Everett caused him to treat 
his parent with unvarying deference and respect. 

The poetic temperament of Frederick Everett brought him 
at last, as poetic temperaments are apt to do, into trouble. 
Youth, beauty, innocence, and grace, united in the person of 
Lucy Carrington — the only child of Mr. Stephen Carrington, a 
respectable retired merchant of moderate means, residing within 
a few miles of Woodlands Manor-House — crossed his path ; 
and spite of his shield of many quarterings, he was vanquished 
in an instant, and almost without resistance. The at least tacit 
consent and approval of Mr. Carrington and his fair daughter 
secured, Mr. Everett, junior — hasty, headstrong lover that he 
was — immediately disclosed his matrimonial projects to his 
father and aunt. Captain Everett received the announcement 
with a sarcastic smile, coldly remarking, that if Mrs. Fitzhugh 
was satisfied, he. had no objection to offer. But, alas ! no 
sooner did her nephew, with much periphrastic eloquence, im- 
part his passion for the daughter of a mere merchant to his aunt, 
than a vehement torrent of indignant rebuke broke from her 
lips. She would die rather than consent to so degrading a 
mesalliance ; and should he persist in yielding to such gross infat- 
uation, she would not only disinherit, but banish him her house, 
and cast him forth a beggar on the world. Language like this, 
one can easily understand, provoked language from the indig- 
nant young man which in less heated moments he would have 
disdained to utter ; and the aunt and nephew parted in fierce 


52 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


anger, and after mutual denunciation of each other — he as a dis- 
obedient ingrate, she as an imperious, ungenerous tyrant. The 
quarrel was with some difficulty patched up by Captain Everett ; 
and with the exception of the change which took place in the 
disappointed lover’s demeanor — ^from light-hearted gaiety to 
gloom and sullenness — things, after a few days, went on pretty 
nearly as before. 

The sudden rupture of the hopes Mrs. Eleanor Fitzhugh had 
reposed in her nephew as the restorer of the glories of her 
ancient “ house,” tarnished by Mary Fitzhugh ’s marriage, af- 
fected dangerously, it soon appeared, that lady’s already failing 
health. A fortnight after the quarrel with her nephew, she 
became alarmingly ill. Unusual and baffling symptoms showed 
themselves ; and after suffering during eight days from alternate 
acute pain, and heavy, unconquerable drowsiness, she expired 
in her nephew’s arms. This sudden and fatal illness of his 
relative appeared to reawaken all Frederick Everett’s tender- 
ness and affection for her. He was incessant in his close 
attendance in the sick-chamber, permitting no one else to ad- 
minister to his aunt either aliment or medicine. On this latter 
point, indeed, he insisted, with strange fierceness, taking the 
medicine with his own hand from the man who brought it ; and 
after administering the prescribed quantity, carefully locking up 
the remainder in a cabinet in his bed-room. 

On the morning of the day that Mrs. Fitzhugh died, her 
ordinary medical attendant, Mr. Smith, terrified and perplexed 
by the urgency of the symptoms exhibited by his patient, called 
in the aid of a locally-eminent physician. Dr. Archer, or Arch- 
ford — the name is not very distinctly written in my memoranda 
of these occurrences ; but we will call him Archer — who at once 
changed the treatment till then pursued, and ordered powerful 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


153 


smetics to be administered, without, however, as we have seen, 
producing any saving or sensible effect. The grief of L reder- 
iok Everett, when all hope was over, was unbounded. He 
threw himself, in a paroxysm of remorse or frenzy, upon the 
bed, accusing himself of having murdered her, with other strange 
and incoherent expressions, upon which an intimation soon 
afterwards made by Dr. Archer threw startling light. That 
gentleman, conjointly with Mr. Smith, requested an immediate 
interview with Captain Everett, and Mr. Hardyman, the de- 
ceased lady’s land-steward and solicitor, who happened to be in 
the house at the time. The request was of course complied 
with, and Dr. Archer at once bluntly stated that, in his opinion, 
poison had been administered to the deceased lady, though of 
what precise kind he was somewhat at a loss to conjecture — 
opium essentially, he thought, though certainly not in any of its 
ordinary preparations — one of the alkaloids probably which 
chemical science had recently discovered. Be this as it may, a 
post-Tnortem examination of the body would clear up all doubts, 
and should take place as speedily as possible. Captain Everett 
at once acceded to Dr. Archer’s proposal, at the same time ob- 
serving that he was quite sure the result would entirely disprove 
that gentleman’s assumption. Mr. Hardyman also fully con- 
curred in the necessity of a rigid investigation ; and the post- 
mortem examination should, it was arranged, take place early on 
the following morning. 

“ I have another and very painful duty to perform,” con- 
tinued Dr. Archer, addressing Captain Everett. “ I find thas 
your son, Mr. Frederick Everett, alone administered medicine 
and aliment to Mrs. Fitzhugh during her illness. Strange, pos- 
sibly wholly frenzied expressions, but which sounded vastly like, 
cries of remorse, irrepressible by a person unused to crime. 


154 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL SriDENCR. 


escaped him in my hearing just after the close of the final 

scene ; and But perhaps, Captain Everett, you had better 

retire : this is scarcely a subject” 

“ Go on, sir,” said the captain, over whose countenance a 
strange expression — to use Dr. Archer’s own words — ^had 
flashed ; “ go on : I am better now.” 

‘‘We all know,” resumed Dr. Archer, “ how greatly Mr. 
Frederick Everett gains in wealth by his aunt’s death ; and that 
her decease, moreover, will enable him to conclude the marriage 
to which she was so determinedly opposed. I think, therefore, 
that, under all the circumstances, we shall be fully justified in 
placing the young gentleman under such — I will not say cus- 
tody, but surveillance^ as will prevent him either from leaving 
the house, should he imagine himself suspected, or of destroying 
any evidence which may possibly exist of his guilt, if indeed he 
be guilty.” 

“ I entirely agree with you. Dr. Archer,” exclaimed Mr. 
Hardyman, who had listened with much excitement to the doc- 
tor’s narrative ; “ and will, upon my own responsibility, take 
the necessary steps for eflFecting the object you have in view.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Captain Everett, rising from his chair, 
“ you will of course do your duty ; but I can take no part, nor 
offer any counsel, in such a case : I must leave you to your own 
devices.” He then left the apartment. 

He had been gone but . a few minutes, when Frederick 
Everett, still in a state of terrible excitement, entered the 
room, strode fiercely up to Dr. Archer, and demanded how he 
dared propose, as the butler had just informed him he had done, 
a dissection of his aunt’s body. 

“ I will not permit it,” continued the agitated young man ; 
“ I am master here, and I say it shall not be done. What new 


Cl R C U M 8 T A N T [ A L EVIDENCE. 


i5a 


horror would you evoke ? Is it not enough thjt one of the 
kindest, best of Grod’s creatures, has perished, but another sacri- 
fice must What do I say } Enough that I will not permit 

it. I have seen similar cases — very similar cases in — in 
India !” 

The gentleman so strangely addressed had exchanged signifi- 
cant glances during the delivery of this incoherent speech ; and, 
quite confirmed in their previous impression, Mr. Hardyman, as 
their spokesman, interrupted the speaker, to inform him that ht 
was the suspected assassin of his aunt ! The accusing sentences 
had hardly passed the solicitor’s lips, when the furious young 
man sprang towards him with the bound of a tiger, and at one 
blow prostrated him on the floor. He was immediately seized 
by the two medical gentlemen, and help having been sum- 
moned, he was with much difficulty secured, and placed in 
strict confinement, to await the result of the next day’s inquiry. 

The examination of the body disclosed the terrible fact, that 
the deceased lady had perished by acetate of mor'phine ; thus 
verifying the sagacious guess of Dr. Archer. A minute search 
was immediately made throughout Mr. Frederick Everett’s 
apartments, and behind one of the drawers of a cabinet in his 
bedroom — at the back of the shelf or partition upon which the 
drawer rested, and of course completely hidden by the drawer 
itself when in its place — was found a flat tin flask, fluted on the 
outside, and closed with a screw stopper : it was loosely en- 
veloped in a sheet of brown paper, directed “ Everett, 

Esq., Woodlands Manor-House, Yorkshire and upon close 
examination, a small quantity of white powder, which proved to 
be acetate of mor'phine^ was found in the flask. Suspicion of 
young Everett’s guilt now became conviction ; and, as if to 
confirm beyond all doubt the soundness of the chain of 


156 


ClRCUMStANTIAL EVIDEKCB 


eircumstantial evidence in which he was immeshed, the butler, 
John Darby, an aged and trusty servant of the late Mrs. Fitz- 
hugh, made on the next day the following deposition before 
the magistrates ; — 

“ He had taken in, two days before his late mistress was 
seized with her fatal illness, a small brown paper parcel which 
had been brought by coach from London, and for which 2s. lOd 
carriage was charged and paid. The paper found in Mr. 
Frederick Everett’s cabinet was, he could positively swear, from 
the date and figures marked on it, and the handwriting, the 
paper wrapper of that parcel. He had given it to young Mr. 
Everett, who happened to be in the library at the time. About 
five minutes afterwards, he had occasion to return to the library, 
to inform him that some fishing-tackle he had ordered was sent 
home. The door was ajar ; and Mr. Frederick did not at first 
perceive his entrance, as he was standing with his back to the 
door. The paper parcel he, the butler, had just before deliv- 
ered was lying open on the table, and Mr. Everett held in one 
hand a flat tin flask — the witness had no doubt the same found 
in the cabinet — and in the other a note, which he was reading. 
He, the witness, coughed, to attract Mr. Everett’s attention, 
who hurriedly turned round, clapped down the flask and the 
note, shujffling them under the paper wrapper, as if to conceal 
them, and then, in a very confused manner, and his face as red 
as flame, asked witness what he wanted there ? Witness 
thought this behavior very strange at the time ; but the incident 
soon passed from his mind, and he had thcught no more of it 
till the finding of the paper and flask as described by the other 
witnesses.” 

Mr. Frederick Everett, who had manifested the strangest im- 
passability, a calmness as of despair, throughout the Inquiry 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


157 


which perplexed and disheartened Mr. Sharpe, whose services 
had been retained by Captain Everett, allowed even this mis- 
chievous evidence to pass without a word of comment or explan- 
ation ; and he was, as a matter of course, fully committed for 
the wilful murder of his relative. The chain of circumstantial 
evidence, motive included, was, it was felt, complete — not a 
link was wanting. 

These were the chief incidents disclosed to me by Mr. Sharpe 
during our long and painful consultation. Of the precise nature 
of the terrible suspicions which haunted and disturbed me, I 
shall only in this place say that neither Mr. Sharpe, nor, conse- 
quently, myself, would in all probability have guessed or glanced 
at them, but for the persistent assertions of Miss Carrington, 
that her lover was madly sacrificing himself from some chimeri- 
cal moti e of honor or duty. 

“ Ti ou do not know, Mr. Sharpe, as I do,” she would fre- 
quently exclaim with tearful vehemence, “ the generous, child- 
like simplicity, the chivalric enthusiasm, of his character, his 
utter abnegation of self, and readiness on all occasions to sacri- 
fice his own ease, his own wishes, to forward the happiness of 
others ; and, above all, his fantastic notions of honor — duty, if 
you will — ^which would, I feel assured, prompt him to incui* anjr 
^eril, death itself, to shield from danger any one who had claims 
upon him either of blood or of affection. You know to whom 
Aiy suspicions point ; and how dreadful to think that one so 
young, so brave, so pious, and so true, should be sacrificed for 
such a monster as I believe that man to be !” 

To all these passionate expostulations the attorney could only 
reply that vague suspicions were not judicial proofs ; and that 
if Mr. Frederick Everett would persist in his obstinate reserve, 
a fatal result was inevitable. But Mr. Sharpe readily consented 


156 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


to gratify the wishes of Mr. Carrington and his daughter on one 
point : he returned the money, not a very large sum, which 
Captain Everett had sent him, and agreed that Mr. Carrington 
should supply the funds necessary for the defence of the 
prisoner. 

Our consultation the next day at Mr. Sharpe’s was a sad and 
hopeless one. Nowhere did a gleam of cheerful light break in. 
The case was overwhelmingly complete against the prisoner. 
The vague suspicions we entertained pointed to a crime so mon- 
strous, so incredible, that we felt it could not be so much as 
hinted at upon such, legally considered, slight grounds. The 
prisoner was said to be an eloquent speaker, and I undertook to 
draw up the outline of a defence, impugning, with all the dialec- 
tic skill I was master of, the conclusiveness of the evidence 
for the crown. To this, and a host of testimony to character 
which we proposed to call, rested our faint hopes of “ a good 
deliverance !” 

Business was over, and we were taking a glass of wine with 
Mr. Sharpe, when his chief clerk entered to say that Sergeant 
Edwards, an old soldier — who had spoken to them some time 
before relative to a large claim which he asserted he had against 
Captain Everett, arising out of a legacy bequeathed to him in 
India, and the best mode of assuring its payment by an annuity, 
as proposed by the captain — had now called to say that the 
terms were at last finally arranged, and that he wished to know 
when Mr. Sharpe would be at leisure to draw up the bond. 
“ He need not fear for his money !” exclaimed Sharpe tartly , 
“ the captain will, I fear, be rich enough before another week 
has passed over our heads. Tell him to call to-morrow eve- 
ning ; I will see him after I return from court.” A few minutes 
afterwards, I and Mr. Kingston took our leave. 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


15& 


The Crown Court was thronged to suffocation on the following 
morning, and the excitement of the auditory appeared to be of 
the intensest kind. Miss Carrington, closely veiled, sat beside 
her father on one of the side-benches. A true bill against the 
prisoner had been found on the previous afternoon ; and the 
trial, it had been arranged, to suit the convenience of counsel^ 
should be first proceeded with. The court was presided over by 
Mr. Justice Grose; and Mr. Gurney — afterwards Mr. Baron 
Gurney — with another gentleman appeared for the prosecution- 
As soon as the judge had taken his seat, the prisoner was 
ordered to be brought in, and a hush of expectation pervaded 
the assembly. In a few minutes he made his appearance in the 
dock. His aspect — calm, mournful, and full of patient resigna- 
tion — spoke strongly to the feelings of the audience, and a low 
murmur of sympathy ran through the court. He bowed respect- 
fully to the bench, and then his sad, proud eye wandered round 
the auditory, till it rested on the form of Lucy Carrington, who, 
overcome by sudden emotion, had hidden her weeping face in 
her father’s bosom. Strong feeling, which he with difficulty 
mastered, shook his frame, and blanched to a still deeper pallor 
his fine intellectual countenance. He slowly withdrew his gaze 
from the agitating spectacle, and his troubled glance meeting 
that of Mr. Sharpe, seemed to ask why proceedings, which coidd 
only have one termination, were delayed. He had not long te 
wait. The jury were sworn, and Mr. Gurney rose to address 
them for the crown. Clear, terse, logical, powerful without the 
slightest pretence to what is called eloquence, his speech pro- 
duced a tremendous impression upon all who heard it ; and few 
persons mentally withheld their assent to his assertion, as he. 
concluded what was evidently a painful task, “ that should he 
produce evidence substantiating the statement he had made, the 


160 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


man who could then refuse to believe in the prisoner’s guilt, 
would equally refuse credence to actions witnessed by his own 
/bodily eyes.” 

The different witnesses were then called, and testified to the 
various facts I have before related. Vainly did Mr. Kingston 
and I exert ourselves to invalidate the irresistible proofs of guilt 
'SO dispassionately detailed. “ It is useless,” whispered Mr. 
Sharpe, as I sat down after the cross-examination of the aged 
butler. “ You have done all that could be done ; but he is a 
bloomed man, spite of his innocence, of which I feel, every 
^moment that I look at him, the more and more convinced. 
<jrod help us ; we are poor, fallible creatures, with all our scien- 
itific machinery for getting at truth !” 

The case for the crown was over, and the prisoner was told 
that now was the time for him to address the jury in answer to 
the charge preferred against him. He bowed courteously to the 
intimation, and drawing a paper from his pocket, spoke, after a 
€ew preliminary words of course, nearly as follows : — 

“ I hold in my hand a very acute and eloquent address 
prepared for me by one of the able and zealous gentlemen who 
sappoai's to-day as my counsel, and which, but for the iniquitous 
daw which prohibits the advocate of a presumed felon, but pos- 
sibly quite innocent person, from addressing the jury, upon 
whose verdict his client’s fate depends, would no doubt have 
.formed the subject-matter of an appeal to you not to yield ere- 
Mence to the apparently irrefragable testimony arrayed against 
•me. The substance of this defence you must have gathered 
•from the tenor of the cross-examinations ; but so little effect did 
‘it produce, I saw, in that form, however ably done, and so satis- 
ified am I that though it were rendered with an angel’s elo- 
^juence, it would prove utteily impotent to shake the .strong 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


161 


conclusions of my guilt, which you, short-sighted, fallible mortals 
— short-sighted and fallible because mortal ! — I m^an no dis- 
respect — must have drawm from the body of evidence you have 
heard, that I will not weary you or myself by reading it. I 
will only observe that it points especially to the over-proof, so to 
speak, arrayed against me — to the folly of supposing that an 
intentional murderer would ostentatiously persist in administer- 
ing the fatal potion to the victim with his own hands, carefully 
excluding all others from a chance of incurring suspicion. 
There are other points, but this is by far the most powerful 
one ; and as I cannot believe that will induce you to return a 
verdict rescuing me from what the foolish world, judging from 
appearances, will call a shameful death, but which I, knowing 
my own heart, feel to be sanctified by the highest motives which 
can influence man — it would be merely waste of time to repeat 
them. From the first moment, gentlemen, that this accusation 
was preferred against me, I felt that I had done with this 
world ; and, young as I am, but for one beloved being whose 
presence lighted up and irradiated this else cold and barren 
earth, I should, with little reluctance, have accepted this gift 
of an apparently severe, but perhaps merciful fate. This life, 
gentlemen,” he continued after a short pause, “ it has been 
well said, is but a battle and a march. I have been struck down 
early in the combat ; but of what moment is that, if it be found 
by Him who witnesses the world-unnoticed deeds of all his 
soldiers, that I have earned the victor’s crown } Let it be your 
consolation, gentlemen, if hereafter you should discover that you 
have sent me to an undeserved death, that you at least will not 
have hurried a soul spotted with the awful crime of murder be- 
fore its Maker. And oh,” he exclaimed in conclusion, with 
solemn earnestness, “ may all who have the guilt of blood upon 


162 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


them hasten, whilst life is still granted them, to cleanse them- 
selves by repentance of that foul sin, so that not only the sacri- 
fice of one poor life, but that most holy and tremendous one 
offered in the world’s consummate hour, may not for them 
have been made in vain ! My lord and gentlemen, I have no 
more to say. You will doubtless do your duty : I kd'ct done 
mine.” 

I was about, a few minutes after the conclusion of this strange 
and unexpected address, to call our witnesses to character, when, 
to the surprise of the whole court, and the consternation of the 
prisoner. Miss Carrington started up, threw aside her veil, and 
addressing the judge, demanded to be heard. 

Queenly, graceful, and of touching loveliness did she look in 
her vehemence of sorrow — radiant as sunlight in her days of 
joy she must have been — as she stood up, affection-prompted, 
regardless of self, of the world, to make one last effort to save 
her affianced husband. 

“ What would you say, young lady said Mr. Justice 
Grose, kindly. “ If you have anything to testify in favor of 
the prisoner, you had better communicate with his counsel.” 

“Not that — not that,” she hurriedly replied, as if fearful 
that her strength would fail before she had enunciated her pur- 
pose. “ Put, my lord, put Frederick — the prisoner, I mean — 
on his oath. Bid him declare, as he shall answer at the bar of 
Almighty God, who is the murderer for whom he is about to 
madly sacrifice himself, and you will then find’' 

“ Your request is an absurd one“,” interrupted the judge 
with some asperity. “ I have no power to question a prisoner.” 

“ Then,” shrieked the unfortunate lady, sinking back faint- 
ing and helpless in her father’s arms, “ he is lost— lost !” 

She was immediately carried out of court ; and as soon as the 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


163 


sensation caused by so extraordinary and painful an incident 
had subsided, the trial proceeded. A cloud of witnesses to 
character were called ; the judge summed up ; the jury deliber- 
ated for a few minutes ; and a verdict of “ guilty” was re- 
turned. Sentence to die on the day after the next followed, and 
all was over ! 

Yes; all was, we deemed, over; but happily a decree, 
reversing that of Mr. Justice Grose, had gone forth in Heaven, 
I was sitting at home about an hour after the court had closed, 
painfully musing on the events of the day, when the door of the 
apartment suddenly flew open, and in rushed Mr. Sharpe in a 
state of great excitement, accompanied by Sergeant Edwards, 
whom the reader will remember had called the previous day at 
that gentleman’s house. In a few minutes I was in possession 
of the following important information, elicited by Mr. Sharpe 
from the half-willing, half-reluctant sergeant, whom he had 
found waiting for him at his office : — 

In the flrst place. Captain Everett was not the father of the 
prisoner ! The young man was the son of Mary Fitzhugh by 
her first marriage ; and his name, consequently, was Mordaunt, 
not Everett. His mother had survived her second marriage 
barely six months. Everett, calculating doubtless upon the 
great pecuniary advantages which would be likely to result to 
himself as the reputed father of the heir to a splendid English 
estate, should the quarrel with Mrs. Eleanor Fitzhugh — as he 
nothing dtmbted — be ultimately made up, had brought his 
deceased wife’s infant son up as his own. This was the secret 
of Edwards and his wife ; and to puichase their silence. Captain 
Everett had agreed to give the bond for an annuity which Mr. 
Sharpe was to draw up. The story of the legacy was a mere 
pretence. When Edwards was in Yorkshire before, Everett 


164 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


pacified him for the time with a sum of money, and a promist 
to do more for him as soon as his reputed son came into tlie 
property. He then hurried the d-dexiant sergeant back to 
London ; and at the last interview he had with him, gave him a 
note addressed to a person living in one of the- streets — I forget 
which — leading out of the Haymarket, together with a five- 
pound note, which he was to pay the person to whom the letter 
was addressed for some very rare and valuable powder, which 
the captain wanted for scientific purposes, and which Edwards 
was to forward by coach to Woodlands Manor-House. Edwards 
obeyed his instructions, and delivered the message to the queer 
bushy-bearded foreigner to whom it was addressed, who told 
him that, if he brought him the sum of money mentioned in the 
note on the following day, he should have the article required. 
He also bade him bring a well-stoppered bottle to put it in. 
As the bottle was to be sent by coach, Edwards purchased a tin 
flask, as affording a better security against breakage ; and 
having obtained the powder, packed it nicely up, and told his 
niece, who was staying with him at the time, to direct it, as he 
was in a hurry to go out, to Squire Everett, Woodlands Manor- 
House, Yorkshire, and then take it to the booking-office. He 
thought, of course, though he said Squire in a jocular way, that 
she would have directed it Captain Everett, as she knew him 
well ; but it seemed she had not. Edwards had returned to 
Yorkshire only two days since, to get his annuity settled, and 
fortunately was present in court at the trial of Frederick IMor- 
daunt, alias Everett, and at once recognized the tin flask as the 
one he had purchased and forwarded to Woodlands, where i 
must in due course have arrived on the day stated by the butler. 
Terrified and bewildered at the consequences of what he had 
done, or helped to do, Edwards hastened to Mr. Sharpe, who, 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL E V I T E N C E . 


165 ^ 


by dint of exhortations, threats, and promises, judiciously 
blended, induced him to make a clean breast of it. 

As much astounded as elated by this unlooked-for informal 
tion, it was some minutes before I could sufficiently concentrate- 
my thoughts upon the proper course to be pursued I was not,. 
however, long in deciding. Leaving Mr. Sharpe to draw up att 
affidavit of the facts disclosed, I hastened off to the jail, iit 
order to obtain a thorough elucidation of all the mysteries. 

The revulsion of feeling in the prisoner’s mind when lK^ 
learned that the man for whom he had so recklessly sacrificed 
himself was not only not his father, but a cold-blooded villain,, 
who, according to the testimony of Sergeant Edwards, had 
embittered, perhaps shortened, his mother’s last hours, was- 
immediate and excessive. “ I should have taken Lucy’s ad- 
vice !” he bitterly exclaimed, as he strode to and fro in his cell 
“ have told the tmth at all hazards, and have left the rest tc 
God.” His explanation of the incidents that had so puzzled us- 
all, was as simple as satisfactory. He had always, from his- 
earliest days, stood much in awe of his father, who in the, to= 
young Mordaunt, sacred character of parent, exercised an irre- 
sistible cohtrol over him ; and when the butler entered tber 
library, he believed for an instant it was his father who had sur- 
prised him in the act of reading his correspondence ; an act 
which, however unintentional, would, he knew, excite Captain. 
Everett’s fiercest wrath. Hence a’Oi.e the dismay and confusion 
which the butler had described. He re-sealed the parcel, and 
placed it in his reputed fathers dressing-room ; and thought 
little more of the matter, till, on entering his aunt’e bedroom on. 
the first evening of her illness, he beheld Evercct pour a small 
portion of white powder from the tin flask into the oot^le con- 
taining his aunt’s medicine. The terrible truth at once flashec^ 


166 


CIRCUMSTAVTIAL EVIDENCE. 


upon him. A fierce altercation immediately ensued in the 
father’s dressing-room, whither Frederick followed him. Ever- 
ett persisted that the powder was a celebrated Eastern medica- 
ment, which would save, if anything could, his aunt’s life. The 
young man was not of course deceived by this shallow falsehood, 
and from that moment administered the medicine to the patient 
with his own hands, and kept the bottles which contained it 
locked up in his cabinet. On the very morning of my aunt’s 
death, I surprised him shutting and locking one of my cabinet 
drawers. So dumbfounded was I with horror and dismay at the 
sight, that he left the room by a side-door without observing me. 
You have now the key to my conduct. I loathed to look upon 
the murderer ; but I would have died a thousand deaths rather 
than attempt to save my own life by the sacrifice of a father’s — 
how guilty soever he might be.” 

Furnished with this explanation, and the affidavit of Edwards, 
I waited upon the judge, and obtained not only a respite for the 
prisoner, but a warrant for the arrest of Captain Everett. 

It was a busy evening Edwards was despatched to London 
in the friendly custody ot an intelligent officer, to secure the 
person of the foreign-looking vender of subtle poisons ; and Mr. 
Sharpe, with two constables, set off in a postchaise for Wood- 
lands Manor-House. It was late when they arrived there, and 
the servants informed them that Captain Everett had already 
retired. They of course insisted upon seeing him ; and he 
presently appeared, wrapped in a dressing-gown, and haughtily 
demanded their business with him at such an hour. The answei 
smote him as with a thunderbolt, and he staggered backwards, 
till arrested by the wall of the apartment, and then sank feebly, 
nervelessly, into a chair. Eagerly, after a pause, he questioned 
the intruders upon the nature of the evidence against him- 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


167 


Mr. Sharpe briefly replied that Edwards was in custody, and had 
revealed everything. 

“ Is it indeed so rejoined Everett, seeming to derive reso- 
lution and fortitude from the very extremity of despair. “ Then 
the game is unquestionably lost. It was, however, boldly and 
skilfully played, and I am not a man to whimper over a fatal 
turn of the dice. In a few minutes, gentlemen,” he added, 
‘‘ I shall have changed my dress, and be ready to accompany 
you.” 

“ We cannot lose sight of you for an instant,” replied Mr. 
Sharpe. “ One of the ofiicers must accompany you.” 

‘‘ Be it so : I shall not detain either him or you long.” 

Captain Everett, followed by the ofl&cer, passed into his dress- 
ing-room He pulled off his gown ; and pointing to a coat 
suspended on a peg at the further extremity of the apartment, 
requested the constable to reach it for him. The man hastened 
to comply with his wish. Swiftly, Everett opened a dressing- 
case which stood on a table near him : the officer heard the 
sharp clicking of a pistol-lock, and turned swiftly round. Too 
late ! A loud report rang through the house ; the room was 
filled with smoke ; and the wretched assassin and suicide lay 
extended on the floor a mangled corpse ! 

It would be useless minutely to recapitulate the final wind- 
ing-up of this eventful drama. Suffice it to record, that Mr. 
Frederick Mordaunt was, after a slight delay, restored to free- 
dom and a splendid position in society. After the lapse of a 
decent interval, he espoused Lucy Carrington. Their eldest 
son represents in this present parliament one of the English 
boroughs, and is by no means an undistinguished member of th« 
Commons House. 


“THE ACCOMMODATION BILL.” 


Such of the incidents of the following narrative as did not fall 
within my own personal observation, were communicated to me 
by the late Mr. Ralph Symonds, and the dying confessions of 
James Hornby, one of the persons killed by the falling in of 
the iron roof of the Brunswick Theatre. A conversation the 
other day with a son of Mr. Symonds, who has been long set- 
tled in London, recalled the entire chain of circumstances to 
my memory with all the vivid distinctness of a first impression. 

One evening towards the close of the year 1806 , the Leeds 
coach brought Mr. James Hornby to the village of Pool, on the 
Wharf, in the West-Riding of Yorkshire. A small but re- 
spectable house on the confines of the place had been prepared 
for his reception, and a few minutes after his descent from the 
top of the coach, the pale, withered-looking man disappeared 
within it. Except for occasional trips to Otley, a small market- 
town distant about three miles from Pool, he rarely afterwards 
emerged from its seclusion. It was not Time, we shall pres- 
ently see— he was indeed but four-and-forty years of age — 
that had bowed his figure, thinned his whitening hair, and ban- 
ished from his countenance all signs of healthy, cheerful life. 
This, too, appeared to be the opinion of the gossips of the vil- 
lage, who, congregated, as usual, to witness the arrival and de- 
parture of the coach, indulged, thought Mr Symonds, who was 
an inside passenger proceeding on to Otley, in remarkably free- 


THE ACCOMMODATION BILL. 


169 


t( 




and-easy commentaries upon the past, present, and future of the 
new-comer. 

“ I mind him well,” quavered an old white-haired man. “ Tt*s 
just three-and-twenty years ago last Michaelmas. I remember 
because of the hard frost two years before, that young Jim 
Hornby left Otley to go to Lunnon : just the place, I’m told, 
to give the finishing polish to such a miscreant as he seemed 
likely to be. He was just out of his time to old Hornby, his 
uncle, the grocer.” 

“ He that’s left him such heaps of money 
Ay, boy, the very same, though he wouldn’t have given him 
or any one else a cheese-paring whilst he lived. This one is a 
tru^ chip of the old block. I’ll warrant. You noticed that he 
rode outside, bitter cold as it is 

“ Surely, Gafier Hicks. But do ye mind what it was he went 
off in such a skurry for } Tom Harris was saying last night at 
the Horse-Shoe, it was something concerning a horse-race or a 
young woman ; he warn’t quite sensible which.” 

“ I can’t say,” rejoined the more ancient oracle, “ that I 
quite mind all the ups and downs of it. Henry Burton horse- 
whipped him on the Doncaster race-course, that I know ; but 
whether it was about Cinderella that had, they said, been tam- 
pered with the night before the race, or Miss Elizabeth Gains- 
ford, whom Burton married a few weeks afterwards, I can’t, as 
Tom Harris says, quite clearly remember.” 

‘‘ Old Hornby had a heavy grip of Burton’s farm for a long 
time before he died, they were saying yesterday at Otley. The 
sheepskins will now no doubt be in the nephew’s strong box.” 

“ True, lad ; and let’s hope Master Burton will be regular with 
his payments ; for if not, there’s Jail and Ruin for him written 
in capital letters on yon fellow’s cast-iron phiz, I can see.” 


170 


*‘the accommodation bill.” 


The random hits of these Pool gossips, which were here in 
tenupted by the departure of the coach, were not very wide ol 
the mark. James Hornby, it was quite true, had been publicly 
horsewhipped twenty-three years before by Henry Burton on 
the Doncaster race-course, ostensibly on account of the sudden 
withdrawal of a horse that should have started, a transaction 
with which young Hornby was in some measure mixed up ; but 
especially and really for having dared, upon the strength of pre- 
sumptive heirship to his uncle’s wealth, to advance pretensions 
to the fair hand of Elizabeth Giainsford. the eldest daughter of 
Mr. Robert Grainsford, surgeon, of Otley — pretensions indirectly 
favored, it was said, by the father, but contemptuously repudiated 
by the lady. Be this as it may, three weeks after the races, 
hilizabeth Gainsford became Mrs. Burton, and James Hornby 
hurried off to London, grudgingly furnished for the journey by 
his uncle. He obtained a situation as shopman in one of the 
large grocer establishments of the metropolis ; and twenty-three 
years afterwards, the attorney’s letter, informing him that he 
had succeeded to all his deceased uncle’s property, found him in 
the same place, and in the same capacity. 

.V perfect yell of delight broke from the lips of the taciturn 
man as his glance devoured the welcome intelligence. “ At 
last !” he shouted with maniacal glee ; and fiercely crumpling 
the letter in his hand, as if he held a living foe in his grasp, 
whilst a flash of fiendish passion broke from the deep caverns 
of his sunken eyes — “ at last I have thee on the hip ! Ah, 
mine enemy ! — it is the dead — the dead alone that never return 
to hurl back on the head of the wrong-doer the shame, the misery, 
the ruin he inflicted in his hour of triumph !” The violence of 
passions suddenly unreined after years of jealous curb and watch* 
fiilness for a moment overcame him, and he reeled as if fainting, 


THE ACCOiIM«)DATION BILL. 


171 


« 


)» 


mto a chair. The fierce, stern nature of the man soon mastered 
the unwonted excitement, and in a few minutes he was cold, si- 
lent, impassable as ever. The letter which he despatched the 
same evening gave calm, business orders as to his uncle’s funeral, 
and other pressing matters upon which the attorney had de- 
manded instructions, and concluded by intimating that he should 
be in Yorkshire before many days elapsed. He arrived, as we 
have seen, and took up his abode at one of the houses bequeathed 
to him in Pool, which happened to be unlet. 

Yes, for more than twenty bitter years James Hornby aad 
savagely brooded over the shame and wrong inflicted on him 
the mocking eyes of a brutal crowd by Henry Burton. 
Ever as the day's routine business closed, and he retired to the 
dull solitude of his chamber, the last mind-picture which faded 
on his waking sense was the scene on the crowded race-course, 
with all its exasperating accessories — the merciless exultation of 
the triumphant adversary — the jibes and laughter of his com- 
panions — the hootings of the mob — to be again repeated with 
fantastic exaggeration in the dreams which troubled and per- 
plexed his broken sleep. No wonder that the demons of Re- 
venge and Hate, by whom he was thus goaded, should have 
withered by their poisonous breath the healthful life which God 
had given — have blasted with premature old age a body rockei 
with curses to unblessed repose ! It seemed, by his after-coi 
fessions, that he had really loved Elizabeth Gainsford with all 
the energy of his violent, moody nature, and that her image, 
fresh, lustrous, radiant, as in the dawn of life, unceasingly 
haunted his imagination with visions of tenderness and beauty, 
lost to him, as he believed, through the wiles, the calumnies, 
and violence of his detested, successful rival. 

The matronly person who, a few days after the Christmas foi* 


172 


THE ACCOifMODATION BILL. 


n 


>) 


lowing Hornby’s arrival at Pool, was conversing with her hus- 
band in the parlor of Grrange farmhouse, scarcely realized the 
air-drawn image which dwelt in the memory of the unforgiving, 
unforgetting man. Mrs. Burton was at this time a comely dame, 
whose embonpoint contour, however indicative of florid health and 
serenity of temper, exhibited little of the airy elegance and grace 
said to have distinguished the girlhood of Elizabeth Gainsford. 
Her soft brown eyes were gentle and kind as ever, but the bril- 
liant lights of youth no longer sparkled in their quiet depths, 
and time had not only “ thinned her flowing hair”- — necessitating 
caps — but had brushed the roses from her cheeks, and swept 
away, with his searing hand, the pale lilies from the furtive 
coverts whence they had glanced in tremulous beauty, in life’s 
sweet prime ; yet for all that, and a great deal more, Mrs. Bur- 
ton, I have no manner of doubt, looked charmingly in the bright 
fire-blaze which gleamed in chequered light and shade upon the 
walls, pictures, curtains of the room, and the green leaves and 
scarlet berries of the Christmas holly with which it was profusely 
decorated. Three of her children — the eldest, Elizabeth, a re- 
suscitation of her own youth — were by her side, and opposite 
sat her husband, whose frank, hearty countenance seemed to 
sparkle with careless mirth. 

‘‘ Hornby will be here presently, Elizabeth,” said he. “ What 
a disappointment awaits the rascally curmudgeon ! His uncle 
was a prince compared to him.” 

“ Disappointment, Henry ! to receive four hundred pounds 
be did not expect .?” 

“ Ay, truly, dame. Lawyer Symonds’ son Frank, a fine 

good-hearted young fellow as ever stepped in shoe-leather 

Lizzy, girl, if that candle were nearer your face it would light 
without a match” 


iHE ACCOifMODATION BILL. 


173 


5 > 


“ Nonsense, father !” 

“ Very likely. Frank Synionds, I was sajmg, believes, and 
so does his father, that Hornby would rejoice at an opportunity 
of returning with interest the smart score I marked upon his 
back three-and-twenty years ago 

“ It was a thoughtless, cruel act, Henry,” rejoined his wife, 
and the less said of it the better I hope the fright we have 
nad will induce you to practice a better economy than hereto- 
fore ; so that, instead of allowing t\\»o years’ interest to accumu- 
late upon us, we may gradually reduce the mortgage.” 

“ That we will, dear, depend upon it. We shall be pushed a 
little at first : Kirkshaw, who lent me the two hundred and fifty, 
can only spare it for a month ; but no doubt the bank will do a 
bill for part of it by that time. But sufiicient for the day is the 
evil thereof. Here is the money for Hornby at all events : and 
here at last comes the shrivelled atomy ; I hear his horse. 
Fanny, light the candles.” 

If Mrs. Burton had consciously or unconsciously entertained 
the self-flattering notion that the still unwedded bachelor who 
had unsuccessfully wooed her nearly a quarter of a century be- 
fore, still retained a feeling of regretful tenderness for her, she 
must have been grievously surprised by the cold, unrecognizing 
glance which Hornby threw on her as he entered, and curtly 
replied to her civil greeting. That was not the image stamped 
upon his heart and brain ! But when her eldest daughter ap- 
proached the lights to place paper and pens upon the table, the 
flashing glance and white quivering lip of the grave visitor re- 
vealed the tempest of emotion which for an instant shook him. 
He quickly suppressed all outward manifestation of feeling, and 
in a dry, business tone, demanded if Mr. Burton was ready tc 
pay the interest of the mortgage. 


174 


THE ACCOMMODATION BILL. 


(( 




“ Yes, thank God,” replied Burton, “I am : here is the 
money in notes of the Governor and Company of the Bank of 
England. Count them !” 

Hornby bent down over the notes, shading his face with his 
hand, as if more accurately to examine them, and the glance of 
baffled rage which swept across his features was not observed. 

“ They arc quite right,” he said, rising from his chair ; ‘‘ and 
here is your receipt.” 

‘‘ Very Good ! And now, Hornby, let us have a glass of wine 
together for the sake of old times. Well, well ; you need not 
look so fierce about it. Let bygones he bygones, I say. Oh, 
if you will go — ^go in God’s name ! Good-night !” 

“ Good-night !” 

“ Baffled — foiled !” muttered Hornby as he rode homeward. 

Where could he get the money ? Borrowed it, doubtless , 
but of whom ? Well, patience — patience ! I shall grip thee 
yet, Henry Burton !” And the possessed man turned round in 
his saddle, and shook his clenched hand in the direction of the 
house he had quitted. He then steadily pursued his way, and 
soon regained his hermitage. 

The month for which Burton had borrowed the two hundred 
and fifty pounds passed rapidly — as months always do to bor- 
rowers — and expedient after expedient for raising the money 
was tried in vain. This money must be repaid, Kirkshaw had 
emphatically told him, on the day stipulated. Burton applied 
to the bank at Leeds, with which he usually did business, to 
discount an acceptance, guaranteed by one or two persons whose 
names he mentioned. The answer was the usual civil refusal to 
accept the proffered security for repayment — “ the bank was just 
then full of discounts.” Burton ventured, as a last resource, to 
call on Hornby with a request that, as the rapid advance in the 


“the accommodation bill.” 176 

market-value of land consequent on the high war -prices obtained 
for its produce, had greatly increased the worth of Grange Farm, 
he would add the required sum to the already-existing mortgage. 
He was met by a prompt refusal. Mr. Hornby intended to fore- 
close as speedily as possible the mortgages he already held, and 
invest his capital in more profitable securities. “ Well, then- 
would he lend the amount at any interest he chose ?” 

“ The usury laws,” replied Hornby, with his usual saturnine 
sneer, “ would prevent my acceptance of your obliging offer, 
even if I had the present means, which I have not. My spare 
cash happens just now to be temporarily locked up.” 

Burton, half-crazed with anxiety, went the following day to 
the Leeds bank with the proffer of a fresh name agreed to be 
lent him by its owner. Useless ! “ They did not know the 

party.” The applicant mused a few moments, and then said, 
“ Would you discount the note of Mr. James Hornby of Pool ?” 

“ Certainly ; with a great deal of pleasure.” Burton hurried 
away ; had his horse instantly saddled, and gallopped off to 
Pool. Hornby was at home. 

“ You hinted the other day,” said Burton, “ that if you had 
not been short of present means you might have obliged me 
with the loan I required ” 

“ Did I .?” 

“ At least I so understood you. I am of course not ignorant, 
Mr. Hornby, that there is no good blood between us two ; but I 
also know that you are fond of money, and that you art fiilly 
aware that I am quite safe for a few hundred pounds. 1 am 
come, therefore, to offer you ten pounds bonus for your accept- 
ance at one month for two hundred and fifty pounds.” 

“ What exclaimed Hornby with strange vehemence 
“ What ?” 


12 


176 


THE ACCOMMODATION BILL. 


il 


n 


Burton repeated his offer, and Hornby turned away towards 
the window without speaking. 

When he again faced Burton, his countenance wore its usua] 
color ; but the expression of his eyes, the applicant afterwards 
remembered, was wild and exulting. 

“ Have you a bill stamp 

‘‘Yes.” 

“ Then draw the bill at once, and I will accept it.” 

Burton did not require to be twice told. The bill was quickly 
drawn *, Hornby took it to another table at the further end of 
the apartment, slowly wrote his name across it, folded, and re- 
turned it to Burton, who tendered the ten pounds he had offered, 
and a written acknowledgment that the bill had been drawn and 
accepted for his (Burton’s) accommodation. 

“ I don’t want your money, Henry Burton,” said Hornby, 
putting back the note and the memorandum. “ I am not afraid 
of losing by this transaction. You do not know me yet.” 

“ A queer stick,” thought Burton, as he gained the street ; 
“ but Old Nick is seldom so black as he’s painted ! He was a 
plaguy while, I thought, signing his name ; but I wish I could 
sign mine to such good purpose.” 

Burton laid the accepted bill, face downwards, on the bank 
counter, took a pen, indorsed, and passed it to the managing 
clerk. The gray-headed man glanced sharply at the signature, 
and then at Burton, “ Why, surely this is not Mr. Hornby’s sig- 
nature ? It does not at all resemble it !” 

“Not his signature!” exclaimed Burton; “what do yon 
mean by that 

“ Reynolds, look here,” continued the clerk, addressing an 
other of the bank employes. Reynolds looked, and his immedi- 


THE ACCOMMODATION BILL. 


177 


l( 


)> 


aie glance of surprise and horror at Burton revealed the im- 
pression he had formed. 

‘‘ Please to step this way, Mr. Burton, to a private apart- 
ment,” said the manager. 

“ No — no, I wont,” stammered the unfortunate man, over 
whose mind a dreadful suspicion had glanced with the sudden- 
ness of lightning. “ I will go back to Hornby ;” and he made 
a desperate but vain effort to snatch the fatal instrument. Then, 
pale and staggering with a confused terror and bewilderment, he 
attempted to rush into the street. He was stopped, with the 
help of the bystanders, by one of the clerks, who had jumped 
over the counter for the purpose. 

The messenger despatched by the bankers to Hornby returned 
with an answer that the alleged acceptance was a forgery. It 
was stated on the part of Mr. Hornby that Mr. Burton had in- 
deed requested him to lend two hundred and fifty pounds, but 
he had refused. The frantic asseverations of poor Burton were 
of course disregarded, and he was conveyed to jail. An exami- 
nation took place the next day before the magistrates, and the 
result was, that the prisoner was fully committed on the then 
capital charge for trial at the ensuing assize. 

It were useless, as painful, to dwell upon the consternation 
and agony which fell upon the dwellers at Grange Farm when 
the terrible news reached them. A confident belief in the per- 
fect innocence of the prisoner, participated by most persons who 
knew his character and that of Hornby, and that it would be 
triumphantly vindicated on the day of trial, which rapidly ap- 
proached, alone enabled them to bear up against the blow, and 
to await with trembling hope the verdict of a jury. 

It was at this crisis of the drama that I became an actor in it. 
I was retained for the defence by my long-known and esteemed 


178 


THE ACCOMMODATION BILL. 


(( 


» 


friend Symonds, whose zeal for his client, stimulated by strong 
personal friendship, knew no bounds. The acceptance, he in- 
formed me, so little resembled Hornby’s handwriting, that if 
Burton had unfolded the bill when given back to him by the 
villain, he could hardly have failed to suspect the nature of the 
diabolical snare set for his life. 

In those days, and until Mr., now Sir, Kobert Peel’s amend- 
ment of the criminal law and practice of this country, the ac 
ceptor of a bill of exchange, on the principle that he was inter 
ested in denying the genuineness of the signature, could not, 
according to the Engish law of evidence, be called, on the part 
of the prosecution, to prove the forgery ; and of course, after 
what had taken place, we did not propose to call Hornby for the 
defence. The evidence for the crown consisted, therefore, on 
the day of trial, of the testimony of persons acquainted with 
Hornby’s signature, that the acceptance across the inculpated 
bill was not in his handwriting. Burton’s behavior at the bank, 
in endeavoring to repossess himself of the bill by violence, was 
of course detailed, and told heavily against him. 

All the time this testimony was being given, Hornby sat on 
one of the front seats of the crowded court, exulting in the 
visible accomplishment of lis Satanic device. We could see 
but little of his face, which, supported on his elbow, was par- 
tially concealed by a handkerchief he held in his hand ; but I, 
who narrowly observed him, could occasionally discern flashes 
from under his pent brows — revealments of the flerce struggle 
which raged within. 

The moment at last arrived for the prisoner, whose eyes had 
been for some time fixed on Hornby, to speak or read his de- 
fence, and a breathless silence pervaded the court. 

Burton started at the summons, like a man unexpectedly re- 


THE ACCOMMODATION BILL.” 


179 




called to a sense of an imperious, but for the moment forgotten, 
duty. 

James Hornby !” he suddenly cried with a voice which 
rang through the assembly like a trumpet, “ stand up, and if 
you can face an innocent man ” 

Hornby, surprised out of his self-possession, mechanically 
obeyed the strange order, sprang involuntarily to his feet, let 
fall the handkerchief that had partially concealed his features, 
and nervously confronted the prisoner. 

“ Look at me, I say,” continued Burton with increasing ex- 
citement ; “ and as you hope to escape the terrors of the last 
judgment, answer truly : did you not, with your own hand, and 
in my presence, sign that bill 

“ This cannot be permitted,” interrupted the judge. 

“ If you do not speak,” proceeded the prisoner, heedless of 
the intimation from the bench ; “ or if you deny the truth, my 
life, as sure as there is a God in heaven, will be required at your 
hands. If, in consequence of your devilish plotting, these men 
consign me to a felon’s grave, I shall not be cold in it when you 
will be calling upon the mountains to fall and cover you from 
the vengeance of the Judge of heaven and earth ! Speak, man 
— save me : save your own soul from mortal peril whilst there is 
yet time for mercy and repentance !” 

Hornby’s expression of surprise and confusion had gradually 
changed during this appeal to its usual character of dogged im- 
passibility. He turned calmly and appealingly towards the 
bench. 

“ You need not answer these wild adjurations, Mr. Hornby,” 
said the judge, as soon as he could make himself heard. 

A smile curled the fellow’s lip as he bowed deferentially to 
his lordship, and he sat down without uttering a syllable 


180 


THE ACCOMMODATION BILL. 


i< 




“ May the Lord, then, have mercy on my soul !” exclaimed 
the prisoner solemnly. Then glancing at the bench and jury- 
box, he added, “ And you, my lord and gentlemen, work youi 
will with my body as quickly as you may : I am a lost man !” 

The calling of witnesses to character, the opening of the 
judge’s charge, pointing from its first sentence to a conviction, 
elicited no further manifestation of feeling from the prisoner : 
he was as calm as despair. 

The judge had been speaking for perhaps ten minutes, when 
a bustle was heard at the hall, as if persons were striving to force 
their way into the body of the court in spite of the resistance of 
the officers. 

“ Who is that disturbing the court demanded the judge 
angrily. 

“ For the love of Heaven let me pass !” we heard uttered in 
passionate tones by a female voice. “ I must and will see the 
judge !” 

“ Who can this be T inquired, addressing Mr. Symonds. 

“ I cannot conceive,” he replied ; “ surely not Mrs. Burton 

I had kept my eye, as I spoke, upon Hornby, and noticed 
that he exhibited extraordinary emotion at the sound of the 
voice, to whomsoever it belonged, and was now endeavoring to 
force his way through the crowded and anxious auditory. 

My lord,” said I, “ I have to request on the part of the 
prisoner that the person desirous of admittance may be heard.’’ 

‘‘ What has she to say } Or if a material witness, why have 
you not called her at the proper time .?” replied his lordship 
with some irritation. 

“ My lord, I do not even now know her name ; but in a case 
involving the life of the prisoner, it is imperative that no chance 
be neglected ” 


THE ACCOMMODATION BILL. 


181 


(i 


)) 


“ Let the woman pass into the witness-box,” interrupted the 
judge. 

The order brought before our eyes a pale, stunted woman, of 
about fifty years of age, whose excited and by no means unintel- 
lectual features, and hurried, earnest manner, seemed to betoken 
great and unusual feeling. 

“ As I’m alive, Hornby’s deformed housekeeper !” whispered 
Symonds. “ This poor devil’s knot will be unraveled yet.” 

The woman, whose countenance and demeanor, as she gave 
her evidence, exhibited a serious, almost solemn intelligence, 
deposed to the following effect : — 

“ Her name was Mary M‘Grath, and she was the daughter of 
Irish parents, but born and brought up in England. She had 
been Mr. Hornby’s housekeeper, and remembered well the 4th 
of February last, when Mr. Burton, the prisoner, called at the 
house. Witness was dusting in an apartment close to her mas- 
ter’s business-room, from which it was only separated by a thin 
wooden partition. The door was partly open, and she could see 
as well as hear what was going on without being seen herself. 
She heard the conversation between the prisoner and her mas- 
ter ; heard Mr. Hornby agree to sign the paper — bill she ought 
to say — for two hundred and fifty pounds ; saw him do it, and 
then deliver it folded up to Mr. Burton.” 

A shout of execration burst from the auditory as these words 
were uttered, and every eye was turned to the spot where Hornby 
had been seated. He had disappeared during the previous con- 
fusion. 

“ Silence !” exclaimed the judge sternly. “ Why, woman,” 
he added, “ have you never spoken of this before .?” 

“ Because, my lord,” replied the witness with downcast looks, 
and in a low, broken voice — “ because I am a sinful, wicked 


18 ^ 


THE ACCOMMODATION BILL. 


U 


/9 


creature. When my master, the day after Mr. Burton had 
been taken up, discovered that I knew his secret, he bribed me 
with money and great promises of more to silence. I had been 
nearly all my life, gentlemen, poor and miserable, almost an 
outcast, and the temptation was too strong for me. He mis- 
trusted me, however — for my mind, he saw, was sore troubled — 
and he sent me off to London yesterday, to be out of the way 
till all was over. The coach stopped at Leeds, and, as it was 
heavy upon me, I thought, especially as it was the blessed 
Easter-time, that I would step to the chapel. His holy name 
be praised that I did ! The scales seemed to fall from my eyes, 
and I saw clearer than I had before the terrible wickedness I 
was committing. I told all to the priest, and he has brought 
me here to make what amends I can for the sin and cruelty of 
which I have been guilty There — there is all that is left of 
the wages of crime,” she added, throwing a purse of money on 
the floor of the court ; and then bursting into a flood of tears, 
she exclaimed with passionate earnestness, “ for which may the 
Almighty of his infinite mercy pardon and absolve me !” 

“ Amen !” responded the deep husky voice of the prisoner, 
snatched back, as it were, from the very verge of the grave to 
liberty and life “ Amen, with all my soul !” 

The counsel for the crown, cross-examined the witness, but his 
efforts only brought out her evidence in, if p( ssible, a still clearer 
and more trustworthy light. Not a thought of doubt was enter- 
tained by any person in the court, and the jury, with the alacrity 
of men relieved of a grievous burthen, and without troubling the 
judge to resume his interrupted charge, returned a verdict of 
acquittal. 

The return of Burton to his home figured as an ovation in the 
Pool and Otley annals. The greetings which met him on aU 


THE ACCOMMODATION BILL. 


18 ^ 




)) 


pides were boisterous and hearty, as English greetings usually 
are ; and it was with some difficulty the rustic constabulary could 
muster a sufficient force to save Hornby’s domicile from sack 
and destruction. All the windows were, however, smashed, and 
^hat the mob felt was something at all events. 

Burton profited by the painful ordeal to which he had, prima- 
rily through his own thoughtlessness, been exposed, and came in 
a few years to be regarded as one of the most prosperous yeomen • 
farmers of Yorkshire. Mr. Frank Symonds’ union with Eliza 
beth Burton was in due time solemnized : Mr. Wilberforce, thu 
then popular member for the West Riding, I remember heai 
ing, stood sponsor to their eldest born : and Mary M‘GratL 
nassed the remainder of her life in the service of the family her 
testimony had saved from disgrace and ruin. 

Mr. James Hornby disappeared from Yorkshire immediately 
after the trial, and, except through his business agents, was not 
again heard of till the catastrophe at the Brunswick Theatre, 
where he perished. He died penitent, after expressing to Mr. 
Frank Symonds, for whom he had sent, his deep sorrow for the 
evil deed he had planned, and, but for a merciful interposition, 
would have accomplished. As a proof of the sincerity of his 
repentance, he bequeathed the bulk of his property to Mrs. 
Symonds, the daughter of the man he had pursued with such 
savage and relentless hate f 


THE KEFUGEE. 


The events which I am about to relate occurred towards the 
close of the last century, some time before I was called to the 
bar, and do not therefore in strictness fall within my own expe- 
riences as a barrister. Still, as they came to my knowledge 
with much greater completeness than if I had been only pro- 
fessionally engaged to assist in the catastrophe of the drama 
through which they are evolved, and, as I conceive, throw a 
strong light upon the practical working of our criminal jurispru- 
dence, a brief page of these slight leaves may not inappropri- 
ately record them. 

About the time I have indicated, a Mrs. Rushton, the widow 
of a gentleman of commercial opulence, resided in Upper Harley 
Street, Cavendish Square. She was a woman of ‘‘ family,” and 
by her marriage had greatly lowered herself, in her relatives’ 
opinion, by a union with a person who, however wealthy and 
otherwise honorable, was so entirely the architect of his own 
fortunes — owed all that he possessed so immediately to his own 
skill, sagacity, and perseverance — that there was an unpleasant 
rumor abroad about his widowed mother being indebted to her 
son’s success in business for having passed the last ten years of 
her life in ease and competence. Mr. Rushton had left his 
widow a handsome annuity, and to his and her only son a well- 
invested ig|ome of upwards of seven thousand a year. Since 
the death of her husband, Mrs. Rushton, who inherited quite her 


THE REFUGEE. 


186 


full share of family pride, if nothing else, had sought by every 
method she could devise to re-enter the charmed circle from 
which her union with a city merchant had excluded her. The 
most effectual mode of accomplishing her purpose was, she knew, 
to bring about a marriage between her son and a lady who would 
not bo indisposed to accept of wealth and a well-appointed 
establishment in Mayfair as a set-off against birth and higli 
connection. 

Arthur Rushton, at this time between two and three-and- 
twenty years of age, was a mild, retiring, rather shy person, and 
endowed with a tenderness of disposition, of which the tranquil 
depths had not as yet been ruffled by the faintest breath of pas- 
sion. His mother possessed almost unbounded influence over 
him ; and he ever listened with a smile, a languid, half-disdain- 
ful one, to her eager speculations upon the numerous eligible 
matches that would present themselves the instant the “ season ” 
and their new establishment in Mayfair — of which the decoration 
and furnishing engaged all her available time and attention — 
enabled them to open the campaign with effect. Arthur Rush- 
ton and myself had been college companions, and our friendly 
intimacy continued for several years afterwards. At this period 
especially we were very cordial and unreserved in our intercourse 
with each other. 

London at this time was crowded with French "ixiles, escaped 
from the devouring sword of Robespierre and his helpers in the 
work of government by the guillotine, almost all of whom claimed 
to be members of, or closely connected with, the ancient nobility 
of France. Among these was an elderly gentleman of the name 
of De Tourville, who, with his daughter Eugenie^ had for a 
considerable time occupied a first floor in King Street, Holborn. 
Him I never saw in life, but Mademoiselle de Tourville was one 


186 


THE REFUGEE. 


of the most accomplished, graceful, enchantingly-iuteresting per- 
sons I have ever seen or known. There was a dangerous fascin- 
ation in the pensive tenderness through which her natural gaiety 
and archness of manner would at intervals flash, like April sun- 
light glancing through clouds and showers, which, the first time 
I saw her, painfully impressed as much as it charmed me — per- 
ceiving, as I quickly did, that with her the future peace, T could 
almost have said life, of Arthur Rushton was irrevocably bound 
up. The fountains of his heart were for the first time stirred to 
their inmost depths, and, situated as he and she were, what hut 
disappointment, bitterness, and anguish could well-up from those 
troubled waters } Mademoiselle de Tourville, I could perceive, 
was fully aware of the impression she had made upon the sensi- 
tive and amiable Englishman ; and I sometimes discovered an 
expression of pity — of sorrowful tenderness, as it were — pass 
over her features as some distincter revelation than usual of the 
nature of Arthur Rushton ’s emotions flashed upon her. I also 
heard her express herself several times, as overtly as she could, 
upon the impossibility there ■‘xisted that she should, however 
much she might desire it, settle in England, or even remain in 
it for any considerable length of time. All this I understood, 
or thought I did, perfectly ; but Rushton, bewildered, entranced 
by feelings altogether new to him, saw nothing, heard nothing 
but her presence, and felt, without reasoning upon it, that in 
that delirious dream it was his fate either to live or else to bear 
no life. Mrs. Rushton — and this greatly surprised me — ab- 
sorbed in her matrimonial and furnishing schemes and projects, 
saw nothing of what was going on. Probably the notion that 
her son should for an instant think of allying himself with an 
obscure, portionless foreigner, was, to a mind like hers, too 
absurd to be for a moment entertained ; or But stay; 


THE REFUGEE. 


187 


borne along by a crowd of rushing thoughts, I have, I find, 
somewhat anticipated the regular march of my narrative. 

M. and Mademoiselle de Tourville, according to the after- 
testimony of their landlord, Mr. Osborn, had, from the time of 
their arrival in England, a very constant visitor at their lodgings 
in King Street. He was a tall French gentleman, of perhaps 
thirty years of age, and distinguished appearance. His name 
was La Houssaye. He was very frequently with them indeed, 
and generally he and M. de Tourville would go out together in 
the evening, the latter gentleman not returning home till very 
late. This was more especially the case after Mademoiselle de 
Tourville ceased to reside with her father. 

Among the fashionable articles with which Mrs. Rushton was 
anxious to surround herself, was a companion of accomplish- 
ments and high-breeding, who might help her to rub off the rust 
she feared to have contracted by her connection with the city. 
A Parisian lady of high lineage and perfect breeding might, 
she thought, be easily obtained ; and an advertisement brought 
Mademoiselle de Tourville to her house. Mrs. Rushton was 
delighted with the air and manners of the charming applicant ; 
and after a slight inquiry by letter to an address of reference 
given by the young lady, immediately engaged her, on exceed- 
ingly liberal terms, for six months — that being the longest period 
for which Mademoiselle de Tourville could undertake to remain. 
She also stipulated for permission to pass the greater part of one 
day in the week — that which might happen to be most conven- 
ient to Mrs. Rushton — with her father. One other condition 
testified alike to M. de Tourville’s present poverty and her own 
filial piety : it was, that her salary should be paid weekly — she 
would not accept it in advance — avowedly for her parent’s 
necessities, who, poor exile ! and tears stood in Eugenie’s dark 


188 


THE REFUGES 


lustrous eyes as she spoke, was ever trembling on the brink of 
the grave from an affection of the heart with which he had been 
long afflicted. Mademoiselle de Tourvill^, I should state, spoke 
English exceedingly well as far as the rules of syntax and the 
meanings of words went, and with an accent charming in its 
very defectiveness. 

She had resided with Mrs. Rushton, who on all occasions 
treated her with the greatest kindness and consideration, for 
rather more than two months, when an incident occurred which 
caused the scales to fall suddenly from the astonished mother’s 
eyes, and in a moment revealed to her the extent of the risk and 
mischief she had so heedlessly incurred. The carriage was at 
the door, and it struck Mrs. Rushton as she was descending the 
stairs that Mademoiselle de Tourville, who had complained of 
headache in the morning, would like to take an airing with her. 
The sound of the harp issuing from the drawing-room, and the 
faintly-distinguished tones of her voice in some plaintive silver 
melody perhaps suggested the invitation ; and thither the mis- 
tress of the mansion at once proceeded. The folding-doors of 
the back drawing-room were partially open when Mrs. Rushton, 
on kind thoughts intent, entered the front apartment. Made- 
moiselle de Tourville was seated with her back towards her at 
the harp, pouring forth with her thrilling and delicious voice a 
French romaunt ; and there, with his head supported on his 
elbow, which rested on the marble chimney-piece, stood her son, 
Arthur Rushton, gazing at the aparently-unconscious songstress 
with a look so full of devoted tenderness — so completely reveal- 
ing the intensity of passion by which he was possessed — that 
Mrs. Rushton started with convulsive affright, and could not for 
several minutes give articulation to the dismay and rage which 
choked her utterance Presently, however, her emotions found 


THE REFUGEE. 


189 


expression, and a storm of vituperative abuse was showered upon 
the head of the astonished Eugenie, designated as an artful 
intrigante^ a designing pauper, who had insinuated herself into 
the establishment for the sole purpose of entrapping Mr. Arthur 
Rushton — with a great deal more to the same effect. Made- 
moiselle de Tourville, who had first been too much surprised by 
the unexpected suddenness of the attack to quite comprehend 
the intent and direction of the blows, soon recovered her self- 
possession and hauteur. A smile of contempt curled her beau- 
tiful lip, as, taking advantage of a momentary pause in Mrs. 
Rushton’s breathless tirade, she said, Permit me, madam, to 
observe that if, as you seem to apprehend, your son has contem- 
plated honoring me by the offer of an alliance with his ancient 
House ” Her look at this moment glanced upon the dread- 

fully agitated young man ; the expression of disdainful bitter- 
ness vanished in an instant from her voice and features ; and 
after a few moments, she added, with sad eyes bent upon the 
floor, “ That he could not have made a more unhappy choice — 
more unfortunate for him^ more impossible for me !” She then 
hastily left the apartment, and before a quarter of an hour had 
elapsed, had left the house in a hackney-coach. 

The scene which followed between the mother and son was a 
violent and distressing one. Mr. Rushton, goaded to fury by 
his mother’s attack upon Mademoiselle de Tourville, cast off the 
habit of deference and submission which he had always worn in 
her presence, and asserted with vehemence his right to wed with 
whom he pleased, and declared that no power on earth should 
prevent him marrying the lady just driven ignominiously from 
the house if she could be brought to accept the offer of his hand 
and fortune ! Mrs. Rushton fell into passionate hysterics ; and 
her son, having first summoned her maid; withdrew to ruminate 


190 


THE REFUGEE. 


on Mademoiselle de Tourville’s concluding sentence, which trou- 
bled him far more that what he deemed the injustice of his 
mother. 

When Mrs. E-ushton, by the aid of water, pungent essences, 
and the relief which even an hour of time seldom fails to yield 
in such cases, had partially recovered her equanimity, she deter- 
mined, after careful consideration of the best course of action, 
to consult a solicitor of eminence, well acquainted with her late 
husband, upon the matter. She had a dim notion that the Alien 
Act, if it could be put in motion, might rid her of Mademoiselle 
Je Tourville and her friends. Thus resolving, and ever scrupu- 
lous as to appearances, she carefully smoothed her ruffled plum- 
age, changed her disordered dress, and directed the carriage, 
which had been dismissed, to be again brought round to the 
door. “ Mary,” she added a few moments afterwards, “ bring 

me my jewel-case — the small one : you will find it in Made 

in that French person’s dressing-room.” 

Mary Austin reappeared in answer to the violent ringing of 
her impatient lady’s bell, and stated that the jewel-case could 
nowhere be found in Mademoiselle’s dressing-room. “ Her 
clothes, everything belonging to her, had been taken out of the 
wardrobe, and carried away, and perhaps that also in mistake no 
doubt.” 

“ Nonsense, woman !” replied Mrs. Kushton. “ I left it not 
long ago on her toilet-glass. I intended to show her a purchase 
I had made, and not finding her, left it as I tell you.” 

Another search was made with the same ill-success. Mary 
Austin afterwards said that when she returned to her mistress 
the second time, to say that the jewel-case was certainly gone, 
an expression of satisfaction instead of anger, it seemed to her, 
glanced across Mrs. Rushton’s face, who immediately left the 


THE REFUGEE. 


m 


room, and in a few minutes afterwards was driven off in the 
carriage. 

About an hour after her departure I called in Harley Street 
for Arthur Rushton, with whom I had engaged to go this even- 
ing to the theatre to witness Mrs. Siddons’s Lady Macbeth, which 
neither of us had yet seen. I found him in a state of calmed 
excitement, if I may so express myself ; and after listening 
with much interest to the minute account he gave me of what 
had passed, I, young and inexperienced as I was in such affairs, 
took upon myself to suggest that, as the lady he nothing doubted 
was as irreproachable in character as she was confessedly charm- 
ing and attractive in person and manners, and as he was unques- 
tionably his own master, Mrs. Rushton ’s opposition was not likely 
to be of long continuance ; and that as to Mademoiselle de Tour- 
ville’s somewhat discouraging expression, such sentences from 
the lips of ladies — 

“ That would be wooed, and not unsought be won ” — 

were seldom, if ever, I had understood, to be taken in a literal 
and positive sense. Under this mild and soothing treatment, 
Mr. Rushton gradually threw off a portion of the load that 
oppressed him, and we set off in tolerably cheerful mood for the 
theatre. 

Mrs. Siddons’ magnificent and appalling impersonation over, 
we left the house ; he, melancholy and sombre as I had found 
him in Harley Street, and I in by no means a gay or laughing 
mood. We parted at my door, and whether it was the effect of 
the tragedy, so wonderfully realized in its chief creation, or 
whether coming events do sometimes cast their shadows before, 
I cannot say, but I know that an hour after Rushton ’s departure 
I was still sitting alone, my brain throbbing with excitement, 
13 


THE REFUGEE. 


\9a 


and so nervous and impressionable, that a sudden, vehement 
knocking at the street entrance caused me to spring up from 
my chair with a terrified start, and before I could master the 
impulsive emotion, the room-door was thrown furiously open, 
and in reeled Arthur Rushton — pale, haggard, wild — his eyes 
abkze with horror and affright ! Had the ghost of Duncan 
suddenly gleamed out of the viewless air I could not have been 
more startled — awed ! 

“ She is dead ! — poisoned !” he shrieked with manical fury ; 
“ killed ! — murdered ! — and by her /” 

I gasped for breath, and could hardly articulate — “ What ! 
whom 

“ My mother !” he shouted with the same furious vehemence 
— “ Killed ! by her! Oh, horror ! — horror ! — horror !” and ex- 
hausted by the violence of his emotions, the unfortunate gentle- 
man staggered, shuddered violently, as if shaken by an ague 
fit, and fell heavily — for I was too confounded to yield him 
timely aid — on the floor. 

As soon as I could rally my scattered senses, I caused medical 
aid to be summoned, and got him to bed. Blood was freely 
taken from both arms, and he gradually recovered consciousness. 
Leaving him in kind and careful hands, I hurried off to ascertain 
what possible foundation there could be for the terrible tidings 
so strangely announced. 

I found the establishment in Harley Street in a state of the 
wildest confusion and dismay. Mrs. Rushton was dead ; that, 
at all events, was no figment of sudden insanity, and incredible, 
impossible rumors were flying from mouth to mouth with bewil- 
dering rapidity and incoherence. The name of Mademoiselle 
de Tourville was repeated in every variety of abhorrent empha- 
sis ; but it was not till I obtained an interview with Mrs. Rush- 


THE REFUOBI. 


193 


ton’s solicitor that I could understand what really had occurred, 
or, to speak more properly, what was suspected. Mrs. Kush ton 
had made a deposition, of which Mr. Twyte related to me the 
essential points. The deceased lady had gone out in her car- 
riage with the express intention of calling on him, the solicitor, 
to ascertain if it would be possible to apply the Alien Act to 
Mademoiselle de Tourville and her father, in order to get them 
sent out of the country. Mr. Twyte did not happen to be at 
home, and Mrs. Rushton immediately drove to the De Tour- 
villes’ lodgings in King Street, Holborn, with the design, she 
admitted, of availing herself of what she was in her own mind 
satisfied was the purely accidental taking away of a jewel-case, 
to terrify Mademoiselle de Tourville, by the threat of a criminal 
charge, into leaving the country, or at least to bind herself not 
to admit, under any circumstances, of Mr. Arthur Rushton’s 
addresses. She found Eugenie in a state of extraordinary, and 
it seemed painful excitement ; and the young lady entreated that 
whatever Mrs. Rushton had to say should be reserved for another 
opportunity, when she would calmly consider whatever Mrs. 
Rushton had to urge. The unfortunate lady became somewhat 
irritated at Mademoiselle de Tourville ’s obstinacy, and the un- 
ruffled contempt with which she treated the charge of robbery, 
even after finding the missing jewel-case in a band-box, into which 
it had been thrust with some brushes and other articles in the 
hurry of leaving. Mrs. Rushton was iterating her threats in a 
loud tone of voice, and moved towards tho bell to direct, she said, 
the landlord to send for a constable, but with no intention what- 
ever of doing so, when Mademoiselle de Tourville caught her 
suddenly by the arm, and bade her step into the next room. Mrs. 
Rushton mechanically obeyed, and was led in silence to the side 
of a bed, of which Eugenie suddenly drew the curtain, and dis- 


194 


THE REFUOII. 


played to her, with a significant and reproachfhl gesture, the 
pale, rigid countenance of her father’s corpse, who had, it ap- 
pears, suddenly expired. The shock was terrible. Mrs. Rush- 
ton staggered back into the sitting-room, sick and faint, sank 
into a chair, and presently asked for a glass of wine. “We 
have no wine,” replied Mademoiselle de Tourville ; “ but there 
is a cordial in the next room which may be better for you.” 
She was absent about a minute, and on returning, presented 
Mrs. Riishton with a large wine-glassful of liquid, which the 
deceased lady eagerly swallowed. The taste was strange, but 
not unpleasant ; and instantly afterwards Mrs. Rushton left the 
house. When the carriage reached Harley Street, she was 
found to be in a state of great prostration : powerful stimulants 
were administered, but her life was beyond the reach of medicine. 
She survived just long enough to depose to the foregoing par- 
ticulars ; upon which statement Mademoiselle de Tourville had 
been arrested, and was now in custody. 

“ You seem to have been very precipitate,” I exclaimed 
as soon as the solicitor had ceased speaking ; “ there appears 
to be as yet no proof that the deceased lady died of other 
than natural causes.” 

“ You are mistaken,” rejoined Mr. Twyte. “ There is no 
doubt on the subject in the minds of the medical gentlemen, 
although the 'post-mortem examination has not yet taken place. 
And, as if to put aside all doubt, the bottle from which this 
Eugenie de Tourville admits she took the cordial proves to con- 
tain distilled laurel- water, a deadly poison, curiously colored and 
fiavored.” 

Greatly perturbed, shocked, astonished as I was, my ncind 
refused to admit, even for a moment, the probability, hardly the 
possibility, of Eugenie de Tourville ’s guilt. The reckless malig- 


THE REFUGEE. 


195 


nancy of spirit evinced by so atrocious an act dwelt not, I was 
sure, within that beauteous temple. The motives alleged to have 
actuated her — feai of a criminal charge, admitted to be absurd, 
and desire to rid herself of an obstacle to her marriage with 
Arthur Rushton — seemed to me altogether strained and inappli- 
cable. The desperation of unreasoning hate could alone have 
prompted such a deed; for detection was inevitable, had, in 
truth, been courted rather than attempted to be avoided. 

My reasoning made no change in the conclusions of Mr. 
Twyte the attorney for the prosecution, and I hastened home to 
administer such consolation to Arthur Rushton as might consist 
in the assurance of my firm conviction that his beloved mother’s 
life had not been wilfully taken away by Eugenie de Tourville. 
I found him still painfully agitated ; and the medical attendant 
told me it was feared by Dr. that brain fever would super- 

vene if the utmost care was not taken to keep him as quiet and 
composed as, under the circumstances, was possible. I was, 
however, permitted a few minutes’ conversation with him ; and 
my reasoning, or, more correctly, my confidently-expressed be- 
lief — for his mind seemed incapable of following my argument, 
which it indeed grasped faintly at, but slipped from, as it were, 
in an instant — appeared to relieve him wonderfully. I also 
promised him that no legal or pecuniary assistance should be 
wanting in the endeavor to clear Mademoiselle de Tourville of 
the dreadful imputation preferred against her. I then left him. 
The anticipation of the physician was unfortunately realized: 
the next morning he was in a raging fever, and his life, I was 
informed, was in very imminent danger. 

It was a distracting time ; but I determinedly, and with much 
self-effort, kept down the nervous agitation which might have 
otherwise rendered me incapable of fulfilling the duties I had 


196 


THE REFUGEE. 


undertaken to perform. By eleven o^clock in the forenoon I 
had secured the active and zealous services of Mr. White, one 
of the most celebrated of the criminal attorneys of that day 
By application in the proper quarter, we obtained immediate 
access to the prisoner, who was temporarily confined in a sepa- 
rate room in the B.ed-Lion Square Lock-up House. Made- 
moiselle de Tourville, although exceedingly pale, agitated, and 
nervous, still looked as lustrously pure, as radiantly innocent of 
evil thought or deed, as on the day that I first beheld her. 
The practiced eye of the attorney scanned her closely. “ As 
innocent of this charge,” he whispered, “ as you or I.” I ten- 
dered my services to the unfortunate young lady with an earnest- 
ness of manner which testified more than any words could have 
done how entirely my thoughts acquitted her of offence. Her 
looks thanked me ; and when I hinted at the promise * exacted 
of me by Arthur Bushton, a bright blush for an instant mantled 
the pale marble of her cheeks and forehead, indicating with the 
tears, which suddenly filled and trembled in her beautiful eyes, 
a higher sentiment, I thought, than mere gratitude. She gave 
us her unreserved confidence ; by which, after careful sifting, 
we obtained only the following by no means entirely satisfactory 
results : — 

Mademoiselle de Tourville and her father had escaped from 
the Terrorists of France by the aid of, and in company with, the 
Chevalier la Houssaye, with whom M. de Tourville had pre- 
viously had but very slight acquaintance. The chevalier soon 
professed a violent admiration for Eugenie ; and having contrived 
to lay M. de Tourville under heavy pecuniary obligations at play 
— many of them Mademoiselle de Tourville had only very lately 
discovered — prevailed upon his debtor to exert his influence with 
his daughter to accept La Houssaye ’s hand in marriage. After 


THE REFUGEE 


19 ^ 


mach resistance, Mademoiseile de Tourville, overcome by the 
commands, entreaties, prayers of her father, consented, but only 
on condition that the n\arriage should not take place till their 
return to France, which it was thought need not be very long 
delayed, and that no more money obligations should in the 
meantime be incurred by her father. La Houssaye vehemently 
objected to delay , but finding Eugenie inexorable, sullenly 
acquiesced. It was precisely at this time that the engagement 
with Mrs. Hush ton was accepted. On the previous afternoon 
Mademoiselte de Tourville, on leaving Harley Street after the 
scene with the deceased lady, went directly home, and there 
found both her father and the chevalier in hot contention and 
excitement. As soon as La Houssaye saw her, he seized his hat, 
and rushed ou»! of the apartment and house. Her father, who 
was greatly excited, had barely time to say that he had fortu- 
nately discovered the chevalier to be a married man, whose wife, 
a woman of property, was still living in Languedoc, when what 
had always been predicted would follow any unusual agitation 
happened : M. de Tourville suddenly placed his hand on his 
side, uttered a broken exclamation, fell into a chair, and expired. 
It was about two hours after this melancholy event that Mrs. 
Rushton arrived. The account before given of the interview 
which followed was substantially confirmed by Mademoiselle de 
Tourville ; who added, that the cordial she had given Mrs. 
Rushton. was one her father was in the constant habit of taking 
when in the slightest degree excited, and that she was about to 
give him some when he suddenly fell dead. 

We had no doubt, none whatever, that this was the whole, 
literal truth, as far as the knowledge of Mademoiselle de Tour- 
ville extended ; but how could we impart that impression to an 
Old Bailey jury of those days, deprived as we should be of the 


199 


THE REFUOi:!^ 


aid of counsel to address the jury, when in reality a speech, 
pointing to the improbabilities arising from character, and the 
altogether i^wguilty-like mode of administering the fatal liquid, 
was the only possible defence ? Cross-examination promised 
nothing ; for the evidence would consist of the dying deposition 
of Mrs. Rushton, the finding of the laurel-water, and the medi- 
cal testimony as to the cause of death. The only person upon 
whom suspicion glanced was La Houssaye, and that in a vague 
and indistinct manner. Still, it was necessary to find him with- 
out delay, and Mr. White at once sought him at his lodgings, 
of which Mademoiselle de Tourville furnished the address. He 
had left the house suddenly with all his luggage early in the 
morning, and our efforts to trace him proved fruitless. In the 
meantime the post-mortem examination of the body had taken 
place, and a verdict of willful murder against Eugenie de Tour- 
ville been unhesitatingly returned. She was soon afterwards 
committed to Newgate for trial. 

The Old Bailey session was close at hand, and Arthur Bush- 
ton, though immediate danger was over, was still in too delicate 
and precarious a state to be informed of the true position of 
affairs when the final day of trial arrived. The case had excited 
little public attention. It was not the fashion in those days to 
exaggerate the details of crime, and, especially before trial ^ give 
the wings of the morning to every fact or fiction that rumor with 
her busy tongue obscurely whispered. Twenty lines of the 
“ Times ” would contain the published record of the commit- 
ment of Eugenie de Tourville for poisoning her mistress, Caro- 
line Rushton ; and, alas ! spite of the crippled but earnest efforts 
of the eminent counsel we had retained, and the eloquent inno- 
cence of her appearance and demeanor, her conviction and con- 
demnation to death without hope of mercy ! My brain swam as 


THE REFUGEE. 


199 


the measured tones of the recorder, commanding the almost 
immediate and violent destruction of that beauteous master- 
piece of God, fell upon my ear ; and had not Mr. White, who 
. saw how grea^^ I was affected, fairly dragged me out of court 
into the open air, I should have fainted. I scarQiply remember 
how I got home — in a coach, I believe ; but face Rushton after 
that dreadful scene with a kindly-meant deception — lie , — in my 
mouth, I could not, had a king’ff crown been the reward. I 
retired to my chamber, and on the plea of indisposition directed 
that I should on no account be disturbed. Night had fallen, and 
it was growing somewhat late, when I was startled out of the 
painful reverie in which I was still absorbed by the sudden pull- 
ing up of a furiously-driven coach, followed by a thundering 
summons at the door, similar to that which aroused me on the 
evening of Mrs. Rushton’s death. I seized my hat, rushed 
down stairs, and opened the door. It was Mr. White ! 

“ Well ! — well !” I ejaculated. * 

“ Quick — quick he exclaimed in reply. “ La Houssaye — 
he is found — has sent for us — quick ! for life — life is on our 
speed !” 

I was in the vehicle in an instant. In less than ten minutes 
• we had reached our destination — a house in Duke Street, Man- 
chester Square. 

“He is still alive,” replied a young man in answer to Mr. 
White’s hurried inquiry. We rapidly ascended the stairs, and 
in the front apartment of the first floor beheld one of the sad- 
dest, mournfulest spectacles which the world can offer — a fine, 
athletic man, still in the bloom of natural health and vigor, and 
whose pale features, but for the tracings there of fierce, un- 
governed passions, were strikingly handsome and intellectual, 
stretched by his own act upon the bed of death ! It was La 


200 


THE REFUGEE 


Houssaye ! Two gentlemen were with him — one a surgeon^ 
and the other evidently a clergyman, and, as I subsequently 
found, a magistrate, who had been sent for by the surgeon. A 
faint smile gleamed over the face of the dj^g man as we 
entered, and he motioned feebly to a sheet of paper, which, 
closely written upon, was lying upon a table placed near the 
sofa upon which the unhappy suicide was reclining. Mr. White 
snatched, and eagerly perused it. I could see by the vivid 
lighting up of his keen gray eye that it was, in his opinion, 
satisfactory and sufficient. 

This,” said Mr. White, “ is your solemn deposition, know- 
ing yourself to be dying 

“ Yes, yes,” murmured La Houssaye ; “ the truth — the 
truth !” 

“ The declaration of a man,” said the clergyman with some 
asperity of tone, “ who defyingly, unrepentingly, rushes into the 
presence of his Creator, can be of little value !” 

“ Ha !” said the dying man, rousing himself by a strong 
effort ; “ I repent — ^yes — ^yes — I repent ! I believe — do you 
hear } — and repent — believe. Put that down,” he added, in 
tones momently feebler and nore husky, as he pointed to the 
paper; “put that down, or — or perhaps — Eu — genie — per- 
haps ” 

As he spoke, the faint light that had momently kindled his 
glazing eye was suddenly quenched ; he remained for perhaps 
half a minute raised on his elbow, and with his outstretched finger 
pointing towards the paper, gazing blindly upon vacancy. Then 
the arm dropped, and he fell back dead ! 

We escaped as quickly as we could from this fearful death- 
room, and I found that the deposition which Mr. White brought 
away with him gave a full, detailed account, written in the 


THE REFUGEE. 


20] 


French language, of the circumstances which led to the death 
of Mrs. Rushton. 

La Houssaye, finding that M. de Tourville had by some 
means discovered the secret of his previous marriage, and that 
consequently all hope of obtaining the hand of Eugenie, whom 
he loved with all the passion of his fiery nature, would be gone 
unless De Tourville could be prevented from communicating 
with his daughter, resolved to compass the old man’s instant 
destruction. The chevalier persuaded himself that, as he should 
manage it, death would be attributed to the affection of the 
heart, from which M. de Tourville had so long suffered. He 
procured the distilled laurel-water — ^how and from whom was 
minutely explained — colored, fiavored it to resemble as nearly 
as possible the cordial which he knew M. de Tourville — and he 
only — was in the habit of frequently taking. A precisely- 
similar bottle he also procured — the shop at which it was pur- 
chased was described — and when he called in King Street, he 
found no difficulty, in an unobserved moment, of substituting 
one bottle for the other. That containing the real cordial he 
was still in possession of, and it would be found in his valise 
The imexpected arrival of Mademoiselle de Tourville frustrated 
his design, and he rushed in fury and dismay from the house. A 
few hours afterwards, he heard of the sudden death of M. de 
Tourville, and attributing it to his having taken a portion of the 
simulated cordial, he. La Houssaye, fearful of consequences, 
hastily and secretly changed his abode. He had subsequently 
kept silence till the conviction of Eugenie left him no other 
alternative, if he would not see her perish on the scaffold, than 
a ftiU and unreserved confession. This done — Eugenie saved, 
but lost to him — he had nothing more to live for in the world, 
and should leave it. 


803 


THE REFUGEE. 


This was the essence of the document ; and all the parts of it 
which were capable of corroborative proof having been substan- 
tiated, a free pardon issued from the crown — the technical mode 
of quashing an unjust criminal verdict — and Mademoiselle de 
Tourville was restored to liberty. 

She did not return to France. Something more perhaps than 
a year after the demonstration of her innocence, she was mar- 
ried to Arthur Rushton in the Sardinian Catholic Chapel, Lon- 
don, the bridegroom having by her influence been induced to 
embrace the faith of Rome. The establishments in Harley 
Street and Mayfair were broken up ; and the newly-espoused 
pair settled in the county of Gralway, Ireland, where Mr. Rush- 
ton made extensive landed purchases. They have lived very 
happily a long life, have been blessed with a large and amiable 
family, and are now — for they are both yet alive — surrounded 
with grandchildren innumerable. 


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THE LIFE POLICY. 


Besides being the confidential advisers, attorneys aie the 
confessors” of modern England ; and the revelations — deli- 
cate, serious, not unfrequently involving life as well as fortune 
a 11 1 character — confided to the purchased fidelity and profes- 
sional honor of men whom romancers of all ages have stereo- 
typed as the ghouls and vampires of civilized society, are, it is 
impossible to deny, as rarely divulged as those which the 
penitents of the Greek and Latin churches impart to their 
spiritual guides and helpers ; and this possibly for the some- 
what vulgar, but very sufficient reason, that “ a breach of con- 
fidence” would as certainly involve the professional ruin of an 
attorney as the commission of a felony. An able but eccentric 
jurisconsult, Mr. Jeremy Bentham, was desirous that attorneys 
should be compelled to disclose on oath whatever guilty secrets 
might be confided to them by their clients ; the only objection 
to which ingenious device for the conviction of rogues being, 
that if such a power existed, there would be no secrets to dis- 
close ; and, as a necessary consequence, that the imperfectly- 
informed attorney would be unable to render his client the 
justice to which every person, however criminal, is clearly 
entitled — that of having his or her case presented before the 
court appointed to decide upon it in the best and most advan- 


206 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


tageous manner possible. Let it not be forgotten either that 
the attorney is the only real, practical defender of the humble 
and needy against the illegal oppressions of the rich and power- 
ful — the shrewd, indomitable agent who gives prosaic reality to 
the figurative eloquence of old Chancellor Fortescue, when he 
says, “ that the lightning may flash through, the thunder shake, 
the tempest beat, upon the English peasant’s hut, but the king 
of England, with all his army, cannot lift the latch to enter in.” 
The chancellor of course meant, that in this country overbearing 
dolence cannot defy, or put itself in the place of the law. This 
is quite true ; and why ? Chiefly because the attorney is ready, 
in all cases of provable illegality, with his potent strip of parch- 
ment summoning the great man before “ her Sovereign Lady 
the Queen,” there to answer for his acts ; and the richer the 
ofiender, the more keen and eager Mr. Attorney to prosecute 
the suit, however needy his own client ; for he is then sure of 
his costs, if he succeed ! Again, I cheerfully admit the extreme 
vulgarity of the motive ; but its effect in protecting the legal 
rights of the humble is not, I contend, lessened because the 
reward of exertion and success is counted out in good, honest 
sovereigns, or notes of the Governor and Company of the Bank 
of England. 

Thus much by way of conciliatory prologue to the narrative 
of a few incidents revealed in the attorney’s privileged con- 
fessional ; throughout which I have of course, in order to avoid 
any possible recognition of those events or incidents, changed 
the name of every person concerned. 

Our old city firm, then, which, I am happy to say, still 
flourishes under the able direction of our active uccessors, I 
will call — adopting the nomenclature appropriated to us by 
imaginative ladies and gentlemen who favor the world with 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


2or 


fancy pen-and-ink portraits of the lawyer tribe — that of Flint 
and Sharp ; Sharp being myself, and Flint the silver-haired old 
bachelor we buried a few weeks since in Kensal Green Cemetery. 

“ Mr. Andrews,” said a clerk as he threw open the door of 
the inner office one afternoon ; “ Mr. Jesse Andrews.” 

“ Good-day, Mr. Andrews,” was my prompt and civil greets 
ing : “ I have good news for you. Take a chair.” 

The good-humored, rather intelligent, and somewhat clouded 
countenance of the new-comer brightened up at these words. 
‘‘ News from my Cousin Archibald .?” he asked, as he seated 
himself. 

“ Yes : He laments your late failure, and commiserates the 
changed position and prospects of your wife and boy, little 
Archibald, his godson. You he has not much compassion for, 
inasmuch as he attributes your misfortunes entirely to misman- 
agement, and the want of common prudence.” 

“ Candid, certainly,” grumbled out Mr. Jesse Andrews ^ 
“ but an odd sort of good news !” 

“ His deeds are kinder than his words. He will allow, till 

Archibald attains his majority Let me see — how old is 

that boy of yours now .^” 

‘‘ Ten. He was two years old when his godfather went to 
India.” 

“ Well, then, you will receive two hundred pounds per an- 
num, payable half-yearly, in advance, for the next ten years — 
that is, of course, if your son lives — in order to enable you to 
bring him up, and educate him properly. After that period 
has elapsed, your cousin intimates that he will place the young 
man advan^eously, and I do not doubt will do something for 
you, should you not by that time have conquered a fair position 
for yourself.” 


208 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


Is that all said Mr. Andrews. 

All ! Why, what did you expect 

“ Two or three thousand pounds to set me afloat again. I 
know of a safe speculation, that with, say three thousand pounds 
capital, would realize a handsome fortune in no time.” 

Mr. Jesse Andrews, I may observe, was one of that numerous 
class of persons who are always on the threshold of realizing 
millions — the only and constant obstacle being the want of a 
^ sufficient “ capital.” 

I condoled with him upon his disappointment ; but as words, 
however civil, avail little in the way of “ capital,” Mr. Jesse 
Andrews, having pocketed the first half-yearly installment of the 
annuity, made his exit in by no means a gracious or grateful 
frame of mind. 

Two other half-yearly payments were duly paid him. When 
he handed me the receipt on the last occasion, he said, in a sort 
of ofi'-hand, careless way, “ I suppose, if Archy were to die, 
these payments would cease .^” 

“ Perhaps not,” I replied unthinkingly. “ At all events, not, 
I should say, till you and your wife were in some way provided 
for. But your son is not ill I added. 

“ No, no ; not at present,” replied Andrews, coloring, and 
with a confusion of manner which surprised me not a little. It 
flashed across my mind that the boy was dead, and that Andrews, 
in order not to risk the withdrawal or suspension of the annuity, 
had concealed the fact from us. 

“ Let me see,” I resumed, “ we have your present address — 
Norton Folgate, I think 

“ Yes, certainly you have.” 

“ I shall very likcdy call in a day or two to see i^*s. Andrew! 
and your son.” 


THE LIFE POLICT. 


209 


The man smiled in a reassured, half-sardonic manner. 

Do,'’ he answered “ Archy is alive, and very well, thank 
God !” 

This confidence dispelled the suspicion I had momentarily 
entertained, and five or six weeks passed away, during which 
Andrews and his affairs were almost as entirely absent from my 
thoughts as if no such man existed. 

About the expiration of that time, Mr. Jesse Andrews unex- 
pectedly revisited the office, and as soon as I was disengaged, 
was ushered into my private room. He was habited in the 
deepest mourning, and it naturally struck me that either his 
wife or son was dead — an impression, however, which a closer 
examination of his countenance did not confirm, knowing as I 
did, how affectionate a husband and father he was, with all his 
faults and follies, reputed to be He looked flurried, nervous, 
certainly ; but there was no grief, no sorrow in the restless, 
disturbed glances which he directed to the floor, the ceiling, 
the window, the fire-place, the chairs, the table — everywhere, 
in fact, except towards my face. 

“ What is the matter, Mr. Andrews I gravely inquired, 
seeing that he did not appear disposed to open the conver- 
sation. 

“ A great calamity, sir — a great calamity,” he hurriedly and 
confusedly answered, his face still persistently averted from me 
— “ has happened ! Archy is dead !” 

“ Dead !” I exclaimed, considerably shocked. “ God bless 
me ! when did this happen 

“ Three weeks ago,” was the reply. “ He died of cholera.” 

“ Of cholera !” This occurred, I should state, in 1830. 

“ Yes ; he was very assiduously attended throughout his 
Bufferings, which were protracted and severe, by the eminent 


210 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


Dr. Parkinson, a highly-respectable and skilled practitioner, as 
you doubtless, sir, are aware.” 

I could not comprehend the man. This dry, unconcerned, 
business-sort of gabble was not the language of a suddenly- 
bereaved parent, and one, too, who had lost a considerable an- 
nuity by his son’s death. What could it mean ? I was in 
truth fairly puzzled 

After a considerable interval of silence, which Mr. Andrews, 
whose eyes continued to wander in every direction except that 
of mine, showed no inclination tc break, I said — “It will be 
necessary for me to write immediately to your cousin, Mr. 
Archibald Andrews. I trust, for your sake, the annuity will 
be continued ; but of course, till I hear from him, the half- 
yearly payments must be suspended.” 

“ Certainly, certainly : I naturally expected that would be 
the case,” said Andrews, still in the same quick, hurried tone. 
“ Quite so.” 

“ You have nothing further to say, I suppose I remarked, 
after another dead pause, during which it was very apparent 
that he was laboring with something to which he nervously 
hesitated to give utterance. 

“ No — ^yes — that is, I wished to consult you upon a matter 
of business — connected with — with a life-assurance office.” 

“ A life-assurance office .?” 

“ Yes.” The man’s pale face flushed crimson, and his speech 
became more and more hurried as he went on. “ Yes ; fearing, 
Mr. Sharp, that should Archy die, we might be left without re- 
source, I resolved, after mature deliberation, to effect an in- 
surance on his life for four thousand pounds.” 

“ Four thousand pounds !” 

Yes. All necessary preliminaries were gone through. The 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


211 


medical gentleman — since dead of the cholera, by the way — 
examined the boy of course, and the insurance was legally ef- 
fected for four thousand pounds, payable at his death.” 

1 did not speak ; a suspicion too horrible to be hinted at held 
me dumb. 

“ Unfortunately,” Andrews continued, “ this insurance waa 
only effected about a fortnight before poor Archy’s death, and 
the office refuses payment, although, as I have told you, the lad 
was attended to the very hour of his death by Dr. Parkinson, 
a highly-respectable, most unexceptionable gentleman. Very 
much so indeed.” 

“ I quite agree in that,” I answered after a while. “ Dr. 
Parkinson is a highly-respectable and eminent man. What 
reason,” I added, “ do the company assign for non-payment .^” 

“ The very recent completion of the policy.” 

“ Nonsense ! How can that fact, standing alone, affect your 
claim .^” 

“ I do not know,” Andrews replied ; and all this time I had 
not been able to look fairly in his face ; but they do refuse ; 
and I am anxious that your firm should take the matter in hand, 
and sue them for the amount.” 

“ I must first see Dr. Parkinson,” I answered, “ and convince 
myself that there is no legitimate reason for repudiating the 
policy.” 

Certainly, certainly,” he replied. 

1 will write to you to-morrow,” I said, rising to terminate 
Ihe conference, “ after I have seen Dr. Parkinson, and state 
whether we will or not take proceedings against the insurance 
company on your behalf.” 

Ho thanked me, and hurried off. 

Dr. Parkinson confirmed IMr. Jesse Andrews in every par- 



212 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


ticular. He had attended the boy, a fine, light-haired lad of 
eleven or twe..ve years of age, from not long after his seizure 
till his death. He suffered dreadfully, and died unmistakably 
of Asiatic cholera, and of nothing else ; of which same disease 
a servant and a female lodger in the same house had died just 
previously. It is of course,” Dr. Parkinson remarked in 
conclusion, “ as unfortunate for the company as it is strangely 
lucky for Andrews ; but there is no valid reason for refusing 
payment.” 

Upon this representation we wrote the next day to the as- 
surance people, threatening proceedings on behalf of Mr. J esse 
Andrews. 

Early on the morrow one of the managing-directors called on 
us, to state the reasons which induced the company to hesitate 
at recognizing the plain tifPs claim. In addition to the doubts 
suggested by the brief time which had elapsed from the date of 
the policy to the death of the child, there were several other 
slight circumstances of corroborative suspicion. The chief of 
these was, that a neighbor had declared he heard the father 
indulging in obstreperous mirth in a room adjoining that in 
which the corpse lay only about two hours after his son had 
expired. This unseemly, scandalous hilarity of her husband, 
the wife appeared to faintly remonstrate against. The directors 
had consequently resolved non obstante Dr. Parkinson’s declara- 
tion, who might, they argued, have been deceived, to have the 
body exhumed in order to a post-mortem examination as to the 
true cause of death. If the parents voluntarily agreed to this 
course, a judicial application to enforce it would be unnecessary, 
and all doubts on the matter could be quietly set at rest. I 
thought the proposal, under the circumstances, reasonable, and 
called on Mr. and Mrs. Andrews to obtain their concurrence. 

» 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


213 


Mrs. Andrews was, I found, absent in the country, but her 
husband was at home ; and he, on hearing the pi oposal, was, I 
thought, a good deal startled — shocked rather — a natural emo- 
tion perhaps. 

“ Who — who,’’ he said, after a few moments’ silent reflec- 
tion — “ who is to conduct this painful, revolting inquiry ?” 

“ Dr. Parkinson will be present, with Mr. Humphrey the 
surgeon, and Dr. Curtis the newly-appointed physician to the 
assurance office, in place of Dr. Morgan who died, as you are 
aware, a short time since of cholera.” 

“ True. Ah, well, then,” he answered almost with alacrity, 
“ be it as they wish. Dr. Parkinson will see fair-play.” 

The examination was effected, and the result was a connrma- 
tion, beyond doubt or quibble, that death, as Dr. Parkinson had 
declared, had been solely occasioned by cholera. The assu- 
rance company still hesitated ; but as this conduct could now 
only be looked upon as perverse obstinacy, we served them with 
a writ at once. They gave in ; and the money was handed 
over to Mr. Jesse Andrews, whose joy at his sudden riches did 
not, I was forced to admit, appear to be in the slightest degree 
damped by any feeling of sadness for the loss of an only child. 

We wrote to inform Mr. Archibald Andrews of these occur- 
rences, and to request further instructions with regard to the 
annuity hitherto paid to his cousin. A considerable time would 
necessarily elapse before an answer could be received, and in 
the meantime Mr. Jesse Andrews plunged headlong into the 
speculation he had been long hankering to engage in, and was 
as he informed me a few weeks afterwards, on the royal road to 
a magnificent fortune. 

Clouds soon gathered over this brilliant prospect. The 
partner, whose persuasive tongue and brilliant imagination had 


214 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


induced Mr. Andrews to join him with his four thousand 
|)oands, proved to be an arrant cheat and swindler; and Mr 
Andrews’s application to us for legal help and redress was just 
too late to prevent the accomplished dealer in moonshine and 
delusion fron embarking at Liverpool for America, with every 
penny of the partnership funds in his pockets ! 

A favorable reply from Mr. Archibald Andrews had now be- 
come a question of vital importance to his cousin, who very 
impatiently awaited its arrival. It came at last. Mr. An- 
drews had died rather suddenly at Bombay a short time before 
my letter arrived there, after executing in triplicate a will, of 
which one of the copies was forwarded to me. By this instru- 
ment his property — about thirty-five thousand pounds, the great- 
est portion of which had been remitted from time to time for 
investment in the British funds — was disposed of as follows : — 
Five thousand pounds to his cousin Jesse Andrews, for the 
purpose of educating and maintaining Archibald Andrews, the 
testator’s godson, till he should have attained the age of twenty- 
one, and the whole of the remaining thirty thousand pounds to 
be then paid over to Archibald with accumulated interest. In 
the event, however, of the death of his godson, the entire pro- 
perty was devised to another more distant and wealthier cousin, 
Mr. Newton, and ^wson Charles, on precisely similar conditions, 
witht he exception that an annuity of seventy pounds, payable 
to Jesse Andrews and his wife during their lives, was charged 
upon it. 

Two letters were dispatched the same evening — one to the 
fortunate cousin, Mr. Newton, who lived within what was then 
known as the twopenny post delivery, and another to Mr. Jesse 
Andrews, who had taken up his temporary abode in a cottage 
near St. Alban’s, Hertfordshire These missives informed both 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


215 


gentlemen of the arrival of the Indian mail, and the, to them, 
important dispatches it contained. 

Mr Newton was early at the office on the following morning, 
and perused the will with huge content. He was really quite 
sorry, though, for poor Cousin Jesse : the loss of his son was a 
sad stroke, much worse than this of a fortune which he might 
have expected to follow as a matter of course. And the annuity, 
Mr. Newton thoughtfully observed, was, after all, no contempti- 
ble provision for two persons, without family, and of modest 
requirements. 

A very different scene was enacted when, late in the evening, 
and just as I was about to leave the office, Mr. Jesse Andrews 
rushed in, white as a sheet, haggard, and wild with passion. 
“ What devil’s fables are these you write me he burst forth 
the instant he had gained the threshold of the room. “ How 
dare you,” he went on, almost shrieking with fury — “ how dare 
you attempt to palm off these accursed lies on me r Archy 

rich — rich — and I . But it is a lie ! — an infernal device got 

up to torture me — to drive me wild, distracted— mad !” The 
excited man literally foamed with rage, and so astonished was I, 
that it was a minute or two before I could speak or move. 
At last I rose, closed the door, (for the clerks in the outer office 
were hearers and witnesses of this outbreak,) and led the way to 
an inner and more private apartment. “ Come with me, Mr. 
Andrews,” I said, “ and let us talk this matter calmly over.” 

He mechanically followed, threw himself into a chair, and 
listened with frenzied impatience to the reading of the will. 

A curse is upon me,” he shouted, jumping up as I con- 
cluded , “ the curse of God — a judgment upon the crime 1 but 
the other day committed — a crime as I thought — dolt, idiot 
that I was — s) cunninsly contrived^ so cleverly executed! 


216 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


Fool, villain, madman that I have been ; for now, when fortune 
is tendered for my acceptance, I dare not put forth my hand 

to grasp it ; fortune, too, not only for me, but . 0 Grod, 

it will kill us both, Martha as well as me, though I alone am to 
blame for this infernal chance !” 

This outburst appeared to relieve him, and he sank back into 
his chair somewhat calmer. I could understand nothing of all 
that rhapsody, knowing, as I did, that his son Archibald had 
died from natural causes. “ It is a severe blow,” I said, in as 
soothing a tone as I could assume — “ a very great disappoint- 
ment ; still, you are secured from extreme poverty— from any- 
thing like absolute want” 

“ It is not that — it is not that !” he broke in, though not quite 
so wildly as before. “ Look you, Mr. Sharp, I will tell you all ! 
There may be some mode of extrication from this terrible pre 
dicament, and I must have your advice professionally upon it.” 

“ Go on ; I will advise you to the best of my ability.” 

“ Here it is, then : Archy, my son Archy, is alive ! — alive ! 
and well in health as either you or I !” 

I was thunderstruck. Here was indeed a revelation. 

“ Alive and well,” continued Andrews. “ Listen ! when the 
cholera began to spread so rapidly, I bethought me of insuring 
the boy’s life in case of the worst befalling, but not, as I hope for 
mercy, with the slightest thought of harming a hair of his head. 
This was done. Very soon the terrific disease approached our 
neighborhood, and my wife took Archy to a country lodging, 
returning herself the same evening. The next day our only 
servant was attacked and died. A few hours after that our 
first-floor lodger, a widow of the name of Mason, who had been 
with us but a very short time, was attacked. She suffered 
dreadfully ; and h )r son, a boy about the age of Archy, and 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


217 


with just his hair and complexion, took ill also. The woman 
was delirious with pain ; and before effective medical aid could 
be obtained — she was seized in the middle of the night — she 
expired. Her son who had been removed into another room, 
became rapidly worse, and we sent for Dr. Parkinson ; the poor 
fellow was partially delirious with pain, and clung piteously 
round my wife’s neck, calling her mother, and imploring her to 
relieve him. Dr. Parkinson arrived, and at first sight of the 
boy, said, ‘ Your son is very ill, Mrs. Andrews — I fear, past re- 
covery ; but we will see what can be done.’ I swear to you, 
Mr. Sharp, that it was not till this moment the device which 
has ruined us, flashed across my brain. I cautioned my wife in 
a whisper not to undeceive the doctor, who prescribed the most 
active remedies, and was in the room, when the lad died. You 
know the rest. And now, sir, tell me, can anything be done — 
any device suggested to retrieve this miserable blunder, this 
terrible mistake 

“ This infamous crime, you should say, Mr. Andrews,” I 
replied ; “ for the commission of which you are liable to be tran- 
sported for life.” 

‘‘ Yes, crime ; no doubt that is the true word ! But must 
the innocent child suffer for his father’s offence 

That is the only consideration that could induce me to wag 
a finger in the business. Like many other clever rogues, you 
are caught in the trap you limed for others. Come to me to- 
morrow ; I will think over the matter between this and then ; 
but at present I can say nothing. Stay,” I added, as his hand 
was on the door ; “the identity of your son can be proved, I 
suppose, by better evidence than your own 

“ Certainly, certainly.” 

“ That will do, then ; I will see you in the morning.” 


^ 1-8 


THE L FK POLICY. 


If it should cross the mind of any reader that I ought to have 
given this self-confessed felon into custody, I beg to remind 
him that, for the reasons previously stated, such a course on mj 
part was out of the question — imposssible ; and that, had it 
nk been impossible I should do so, Mr. Jesse Andrews would 
not have intrusted me with his criminal secret. The only 
question now therefore was, how, without compromising this 
guilty client, the godfather’s legacy could be secured for the 
innocent son. 

A conference the next morning with Mr. Flint resulted in 
our sending for Mr. Jesse Andrews, and advising him, for fear 
of accidents or miscarriage in our plans, to betake himself to 
the kingdom of France for a short time. We had then no 
treaty of extradition with that country. As soon as I knew he 
was safely out of the realm, I waited upon the insurance people. 

“ The money ought not to have been received by Jesse 
Andrews, you say, Mr. Sharp observed the managing-gentle- 
man, looking keenly in my face. 

Precisely. It ought not to have been received by him.” 

‘‘ And why not, Mr. Sharp 

“ That is quite an unnecessary question, and one that, you 
know, I should not answer, if I could. That which chiefly con- 
cerns you is, that I am ready to return the four thousand pounds 
at once, here on the spot, and that delays are dangerous. If 
you refuse, why, of course — and I rose from my chair — I must 
take back the money.” 

“ Stay — stay ! I will just consult with one or twe gentle 
men, and be with you again almost immediately.” 

In about five minutes be returned. “Well, Mr. Sharp,” 
he said, “ we had, I suppfse beiktsr take the money — obtained, 
as you say, by mistake ” 


THE LIFE POLICY. 


219^ 


“ Not at all ; I said nothing about mistake. I told you it 
ought not to have been received by Andrews !” 

“ Well — well • I understand. I must, I suppose, give you a 
receipt 

“ Undoubtedly ; and, if you please, precisely in this form.” 

I handed him a copy on a slip of paper. He ran it over, 
smiled, transcribed it on a stamp, signed it, and, as I handed 
him a check for the amount, placed it in my hands. We mu- 
tually bowed, and I wep^- my way. 

Notwithstanding Mr. Newton’s opposition, who was natural- 
ly furious at the unexpected turn the affair had taken, the 
identity of the boy — whom that gentleman persisted in asserting 
to be dead and buried — was clearly established ; and Mr. Ar- 
chibald Andrews, on the day he became of age, received pos- 
session of his fortune. The four thousand pounds had of course 
been repaid out of Jesse Andrews’s legacy. That person has, 
BO to speak, since skulked through life, a mark for the covert 
scorn of every person acquainted with the very black transac 
tion here recorded. This was doubtless a much better fate 
than he deserved ; and in strict, or poetical justice, his punish 
ment ought unquestionably to have been much greater — more 
apparent also, than it was, far example’s sake. But I am a 
man not of fiction, but of fact, and consequently relate events, 
not as they precisely ought, but as they do^ occasionally occur 
in lawyers’ offices, and other unpoetical nooks and corners of 
this prosaic, matter-of-fact, working-day world. 


BIGAMY OR NO BIGAMY? 


The firm of Flint and Sharp enjoyed, whether deservedly or 
not, when I was connected with it, as it still does, a high repu- 
tation for keen practice and shrewd business-management. This 
kind of professional fame is usually far more profitable than the 
drum-and-trumpet variety of the same article ; or at least wt 
found it so ; and often, from blush of morn to far later than 
dewy eve — which natural phenomena, by the way, were only 
emblematically observed by me during thirty busy years in the 
extinguishment of the street lamps at dawn, and their re-illu- 
mination at dusk — did I and my partner incessantly pursue our 
golden avocations ; deferring what are usually esteemed the 
pleasures of life — its banquets, music, flowers, and lettered 
ease — till the toil, and heat, and hurry of the day were past, 
and a calm, luminous evening, unclouded by care or anxiety, 
had arrived. This conduct may or may not have been wise ; 
but at all events it daily increased the connection and transac- 
tions of the firm, and ultimately anchored us both very comfort- 
ably in the three per cents ; and this too, I am bold to say, not 
without our having effected some good in our generation. This 
boast of mine the following passage in the life of a distinguished 
client — known, I am quite sure, by reputation to most of the 
readers of these papers, whom our character for practical saga- 
city and professional shrewdness brought us — will, I think, b« 
admitted in some degree to substantiate. 


B I V. A M T OB NO BIOAMT? 


221 


Our connection was a mercantile rather than an aristocratic 
one, and my surprise was therefore considerable, when, on 
looking through the office-blinds to ascertain what vehicle it was 
that had driven so rapidly up to the door, I observed a hand- 
somely-appointed carriage with a coronet emblazoned on the 
panels, out of which a tall footman was handing a lady attired 
in deep but elegant mourning, and closely veiled. I instantly 
withdrew to my private room, and desired that the lady should 
be immediately admitted. Greatly was my surprise increased 
when the graceful and still youthful visitor withdrew her veil, 
and disclosed the features of the Countess of Seyton, upon 
whose mild, luminous beauty, as rendered by the engraving 
from Sir Thomas Lawrence’s picture, I had so frequently gazed 
with admiration. That rare and touching beauty was clouded 
now ; and an intense expression of anxiety, fear — almost terror 
■ — gleamed from out the troubled depths of her fine dark eyes. 

“ The Countess of Seyton !” I half-involuntarily exclaimed, 
as with my very best bow I handed her ladyship a chair. 

“ Yes ; and you arc a partner of this celebrated firm, are you 
not 

I bowed again still more profoundly to this compliment, and 
nodestly admitted that I was the Sharp of the firm her ladyship 
was pleased to entitle “ celebrated.” 

“ Then, Mr. Sharp, I have to consult you professionally 
ipon a ifiatter of the utmost — the most vital importance to me 
und mine.” Her ladyship then, with some confusion of man- 
ner, as if she did not know whether what she was doing was in 
accordance with strict etiquette or not, placed a Bank of 
England note, by way of retainer, before me. I put it back, 
explaining what the usage really was, and th« countess replaced 
it in her purse. 


222 


BIGAMr OR NO BIGAMY? 


“We shall be proud to render your ladyship any assistano€ 
in our power,” I said ; “ but I understood the Messrs. Jackson 
enjoyed the confidence of the house of Seyton ?” 

“ Precisely. They are, so to speak, the hereditary solicitors 
of the family more than of any individual member of it ; and 
therefore, though highly respectable persons, unfit to advise me 
in this particular matter. Besides,” she added with increasing 
tremor and hesitation, “ to deal with, and if possible foil, the 
individual by whom I am persecuted, requires an agent of 
keener sagacity than either of those gentlemen can boast of ; 

sharper, more resolute men ; more you understand what I 

mean ?” 

“ Perfectly, madam ; and allow me to suggest that it is 
probable our interview may be a somewhat prolonged one — 
your ladyship’s carriage, which may attract attention, should be 
at once dismissed. The office of the family solicitors is, you are 
aware, not far off ; and as we could not explain to them the 
reason which induces your ladyship to honor us with your confi- 
dence, it will be as well to avoid any chance of inquiry.” 

Lady Seyton acquiesced in my suggestion : the carriage was 
ordered home, and Mr. Flint entering just at the time, we both 
listened with earnestness and anxiety to her communication. 
It is needless to repeat verbatim the somewhat prolix, exclama- 
tive narration of the countess ; the essential facts were as 
follows : — • 

The Countess of Seyton, previous to her first marriage, was 
Miss Clara Hayley, second daughter of the Reverend John 
Hayley, the rector of a parish in Devonshire. She married, 
when only nineteen years of age, a Captain Glosford. Her 
husband was ten years older than herself, 'and, as she discovered 
after marriage, was cursed with a morose and churlish temper 


BIGAMY OR NO BIGAMY? 


223 


and disposition. Previous to her acquaintance with Gosford, 
she had been intimate with, almost betrothed to, Mr. Arthur 
Kingston, a young gentleman connected with the peerage, and 
at that time heir-apparent to the great expectancies and actual 
poverty of his father, Sir Arthur Kingston. The haughty 
baronet, the instant he was made aware of the nature of his 
son’s intimacy with the rector’s daughter, packed the young 
man off to the continent on his travels. The Reverend John 
Hayley and his beautiful Clara were as proud as the baronet, 
and extremely indignant that it should be thought either of 
them wished to entrap or delude Arthur Kingston into an un- 
equal or ineligible marriage. This feeling of pride and resent- 
ment aided the success of Mr. Gosford’s suit, and Clara Hayley, 
like many other rash, high-notioned young ladies, doomed her- 
self to misery, in order to show the world, and Mr. Arthur 
Kingston and his proud father especially, that she had a spirit 
The union was a most unhappy one. One child only, which 
died in its infancy, was born to them ; and after being united 
somewhat more than two years, a separation, vehemently in- 
sisted on by the wife’s father, took place, and the unhappily- 
wedded daughter returned to her parent’s roof. Mr. Gosford — 
he had some time before sold out of the army — traveled about 
the country in search of amusement, and latterly of health, (for 
his unhappy cankerous temper at last affected and broke down 
his never very robust physical constitution), accompanied for 
the twelvemonth preceding his death by a young man belonging 
to the medical profession, of the name of Chilton. Mr. and 
Mrs. Gosford had been separated a few days less than three 
years when the husband died, at the village of Swords in 
Ireland, and not far distant from Dublin. The intelligence was 

first conveyed to the widow by a paragraph in the “ Freeman’s 
15 


224 


BIOAMT OR NO BIOAMT? 


Journal,” a Dublin newspaper ; and by the following post a 
letter arrived from Mr. Chilton, inclosing a ring which the 
deceased had requested should be sent to his wife, and a note, 
dictated just previous to his death-hour, in which he expressed 
regret for the past, and admitted that he alone had been to 
blame for the unhappy separation. A copy of his will, made 
nearly a twelvemonth previously, was also forwarded, by which 
he bequeathed his property, amounting to about three hundred 
pounds per annum, to a distant relative then residing in New 
Holland. By a memorandum of a subsequent date, Mr. 
Chilton was to have all the money and other personals he might 
die in actual possession of, after defraying the necessary funeral 
expenses. This will, Mr. Chilton stated, the deceased gentle- 
man had expressed a wish in his last moments to alter, but 
death had been too sudden for him to be able to give effect to 
that good, but too long-delayed intention. 

It cannot be supposed that the long-before practicaUy 
widowed wife grieved much at the final breaking of the chain 
which bound her to so ungenial a mate ; but as Lady Seyton 
was entirely silent upon the subject, our supposition can only 
rest upon the fact, that Arthur Kingston — who had some time 
previously, in consequence of the death of the Earl of Seyton 
and his only son, an always-weakly child, preceded a few 
months by that of his own father, the baronet, succeeded to the 
earldom and estates — hastened home, on seeing the announce- 
ment of Gosford’s death in the Dublin paper, from the con- 
tinent, where he had continued to reside since his compelled- 
departure six years before ; and soon afterwards found his way 
into Devonshire, and so successfully pressed the renewed offer 
of his hand, that the wedding took place slightly within six 
months after the decease of Mr. Gosford. Life passed bril 


filGAMT OR NO BIGAMY? 225 


liantly and happily with the earl and countess — to whom three 
children (a boy and two girls) were born — till about five months 
previous to the present time, when the earl, from being caught, 
when out riding, in a drenching shower of rain, was attacked by 
fever, and after an acute illness of only two or three days’ 
duration, expired. The present earl was at the time just 
turned of five years of age. 

This blow, we comprehended from the sudden tears which 
filled the beautiful eyes of the countess as she spoke of the 
earl’s decease, was a severe one. Still, the grief of widowhood 
must have been greatly assuaged by love for her children, and 
not inconsiderably, after a while, we may be sure, by the bril- 
liant position in which she was left — as, in addition to being 
splendidly jointured, she was appointed by her husband’s will 
sole guardian of the young lord, her son. 

A terrible reverse awaited her. She was sitting with her 
father the rector, and her still unmarried sister, Jane Hay ley, 
in the drawing-room of Seyton House, when a note was brought 
to her, signed Edward Chilton, the writer of which demanded 
an immediate and private interview, on, he alleged, the most 
important business. Lady Seyton remembered the name, and 
immediately acceded to the man’s request. He announced in a 
brusque, insolent tone and manner, that Mr. Gosford had not 
died at the time his death was announced to her, having then 
only fallen into a state of syncope, from which he had unex- 
pectedly recovered, and had lived six months longer. “ The 
truth is,” added Chilton, “ that,* chancing the other day to be 
looking over a ‘ peerage,’ I noticed for the first time the date 
of your marriage with the late Earl of Seyton, and I have now 
to inform you that it took place precisely eight days previous to 
Mr. Gosford’s death ; that it was consequently no marriage at 


226 


BIGAMY OR NO BIGAMY.'’ 


all ; and that your son is no more Earl of Seyton than I 
am.” 

This dreadful announcement, as one might expect, com- 
pletely overcame the countess. She fainted, but not till she 
had heard and comprehended Chilton’s hurried injunctions to 
secrecy and silence. He rang the bell for assistance, and then 
left the house.' The mental agony of Lady Seyton on recover- 
ing consciousness was terrible, and she with great diflSculty suc- 
ceeded in concealing its cause from her anxious and wonder- 
ing relatives. Another interview with Chilton appeared to 
confirm the truth of his story beyond doubt or question. He 
produced a formally-drawn-up document, signed by one Pierce 
Cunningham, grave-digger of Swords, which set forth that 
Cliiirles Grosford was buried on the 26th of June, 1832, and 
that the inscription on his tombstone set forth that he had died 
June 23d of that year. Also a written averment of Patrick 
Mullins of Dublin, that he had lettered the stone at the head 
of the grave of Charles Gosford in Swords burying-ground in 
1832, and that its date was, as stated by Pierce Cunningham, 
June 23, 1832. 

“ Have you copies of those documents ?” asked Mr. Flint. 

“ Yes : I have brought them with me,” the countess replied, 
and handed them to Mr. Flint. “ In my terror and ex- 
tremity,” continued her ladyship, “ and unguided by counsel — 
for, till now I have not dared to speak upon the subject to any 
person — I have given this Chilton, at various times, large sums 

of money — but he is insatiable ; and only yesterday I 

cannot repeat his audacious proposal — you will find it in this 
note.” 

“ Marriage !” exclaimed Mr. Flint with a burst. He had 
read the note over my shoulder. “ The scoundrel !” 


BIGAMY OR NO BIGAMY? 


227 


M v worthy partner was rather excited. The truth was he 
had a Ijiara of his own at home — a dead sister’s child — Tory 
pretty, jusi; about marriageable, and a good deal resembling, as 
he told me afterwards, our new and interesting client. 

“ I wou/d die a thousand deaths rather,” resumed Lady 
Ceytoc, in a low, tremulous voice, as she let fall her veil. 

Ot^n there,” she added in a still fainter voice, “ be anything 
done — anything” 

‘‘ Ih.xt depends entirely,” interrupted Mr. Flint, “upon 
whether this fine story is or is not a fabrication, got up for the 
purpose of extorting money. It seems to me, I must say, 
amazingly li\e one.” 

“ Do you really think so ?” exclaimed the lady with joyful 
vehemence. The notion that Chilton was perhaps imposing on 
her credulity and fears seemed not to have struck her before. 

“ What vio you think. Sharp ?” said my partner. 

I hesitated co give an opinion, as I did not share in the hope 
entertained by Flint. Detection was so certain, that I doubted 
if so cunning a person as Chilton appeared to be would have 
ventured on a fra.vd so severely punishable. “ Suppose,” I 
said, avoiding an antxrer, “ as this note appoints an interview at 
three o’clock to-day at Seyton House, we meet him there 
instead of your ladysh p ? A little talk with the fellow might 
be serviceable.” 

Lady Seyton eagerly agreed to this proposal ; and it was 
arranged that we should be at Seyton House half an hour 
before the appointed time, in readiness for the gentleman. 
Lady Seyton left in a hackney-coach, somewhat relieved, I 
thought, by having confided the oppressive secret to us, and 
with a nascent hope slight^' flushing her pale, dejected 
countenance. 


228 


BIQAMT OR NO BIOAMT ^ 


The firm of Flint and Sharp had then a long conference 
together, during which the lady’s statement and Mr. Chilton’s 
documents were, the reader may be sure, very minutely conned 
over, analyzed, and commented upon. Finally, it was resolved 
that, if the approaching interview, the manner of which we 
agreed upon, did not prove satisfactory, Mr. Flint should im- 
mediately proceed to Ireland, and personally ascertain the 
truth or falsehood of the facts alleged by Chilton. 

“ Mr. Chilton is announced,” said Lady Seyton, hurriedly 
entering the library in Grosvenor Square, where Mr. Flint and 
myself were seated. “ I need not be present, I think you 
said she added, in great tremor. 

“ Certainly not, madam,” I replied. “ We shall do better 
alone.” 

She retired instantly. Flint rose and stationed himself close 
by the door. Presently a sounding, confident step was heard 
along the passage, the library door swung back on its noiseless 
hinges, and in stalked a man of apparently about thirty-five 
years of age, tall, genteel, and soldier-looking. He started 
back on seeing me, recognizing, I perceived, my vocation, at a 
glance. 

“ How is this he exclaimed. “ I expected ” 

‘‘ The Countess of Seyton. True ; but her ladyship has 
deputed me to confer with you on the business mentioned in 
yom* note.” 

I shall have nothing to say to you,” he replied abruptly, 
and turned to leave the room. Mr. Flint had shut, and was 
standing with his back to the door. 

“ You can’t go,” he said, in his coolest manner. “ The 
police are within call.” 

“ The police ! What the devil do you mean .?” cried Chil- 


BIQAMT OR NO B I O A M T ? 


229 


ton, angrily ; but, spite of his assurance, visibly trembling be- 
neath Flint’s searching, half-sneering look. 

“ Nothing very remarkable,” replied that gentleman, “ cr 
unusual in our profession. Come, sit down ; we are lawyers ; 
you are a man of business, we know. I dare say we shall soon 
understand each other.” 

Mr. Chilton sat down, and moodily awaited what was next 
to come. 

“ You are aware,” said Mr. Flint, “ that you have rendered 
yourself liable to transportation 

‘‘ What exclaimed Chilton, flashing crimson, and starting 
to his feet. ‘‘ What !” 

To transportation,” continued my imperturbable partner, 
“ for seven, ten, fourteen years, or for life, at the discretion of 
the, judge ; but, considering the frequency of the crime of late, 
I should say there is a strong probability that ym will be a 
lifer .'” 

‘‘ What devil’s gibberish is this .?” exclaimed Chilton, fright- 
ened, but still fierce. “ I can prove everything I have said. 
Mr. Grosford, I tell you ” 

“ Well, well,” interrupted Mr. Flint ; ‘‘ put it in that light, 
how you please ; turn it which way you will ; it’s like the key 
in Blue Beard, which, I dare say, you have read of ; rub it out 
on one side, and up it comes on the other. Say, by way of 
argument, that you have not obtained money by unfounded 
threats — a crime which the law holds tantamount to highway 
robbery. You have in that case obtained money for compro- 
mising a felony — that of polygamy. An awful position, my 
good sir, choose which you will.” 

Utterly chop-fallen was the lately triumphant man ; but he 
•peedily rallied 


230 


BIGAMY OR NO BIGAMY? 


“I care not,” he at length said. “Punish me you may; 
but the pride of this sham countess and the sham earl will be 
brought low. And I tell you once for all,” he added, rising 
at the same time, and speaking in ringing, wrathful tones, 
“ that I defy you, and will either be handsomely remunerated 
for silence, or I will at once inform the Honorable James King- 
ston that he is the true Earl of Seyton.” 

“ And I tell yoiA,” retorted Flint, “ that if you attempt to 
leave this room, I will give you into custody at once, and tran- 
sport you, whatever may he the consequence to others. Come, 
come, let us have no more nonsense or bluster. We have 
strong reasons for believing that the story by which you have 
been extorting money, is a fabrication. If it be so, rely upon 
it we shall detect and punish you. Your only safe course is to 
make a clean breast of it whilst there is yet time. Out with 
it, man, at once, and you shall go Scot-free ; nay, have a few 
score pounds more — say a hundred. Be wise in time, I coun- 
sel you.” 

Chilton hesitated ; his white lips quivered. There was some- 
thing to reveal. 

“ I cannot,” he muttered, after a considerable pause. “ There 
is nothing to disclose^.” 

“You will not ! Then your fate be on your own head. I 
have done with you.” 

It was now my turn. “ Come, come,” I said, “ it is useless 
urging this man further. How much do you expect ? The 
insolent proposal contained in your note is, you well know, out 
of the question. How much money do you expect for keeping 
this wretched affair secret ? State your terms at once.” 

“ A thousand per annum,” was the reply, “ and the firat 
rear down ” 


tirCAiMY OR NO BIGAMY? 


231 


“ Modest, upon my word ! But I suppose we must comply.” 
[ wrote out an agreement. “ Will you sign this ?” 

He ran it over. “ Yes ; Lady Seyton, as she calls herself, 
will take care it never sees the light.” 

T withdrew, and in two or three minutes returned with a 
check. “ Her ladyship has no present cash at the. bankers,” 
I said, ‘‘ and is obliged to post-date this check twelve days.” 

The rascal grumbled a good deal ; but as there was no help for 
it, he took the security^ signed the agreement, and walked off. 

“ A sweet nut that for the devil to crack,” observed Mr 
Flint, looking savagely after him. “ I am in hopes we shall 
trounce him yet, bravely as he carries it. The check of course 
is not payable to order or bearer 

Certainly not ; and before twelve days are past, you will 
have returned from Ireland. The agreement may be, I thought, 
of use with Cunningham or Mullins. If they have been con- 
.spiring together, they will scarcely admire the light in which 
you can place the arrangement, as affording prcof that he 
means to keep the lion’s share of the reward to himself.” 

“ Exactly. At all events we shall get at the truth, what- 
ever it be.” 

The same evening Mr. Flint started for Dublin via Holyhead. 

I received in due course a letter from him dated the day after 
his arrival there. It was anything but a satisfactory one The 
date on the grave-stone luyi been truly represented, and Mul- 
lins who erected it was a highly respectable man. Flint had 
also seen the grave-digger, but could make nothing out of him. 
There was no regular register of deaths kept in Swords ex- 
cept that belonging to Cunningham ; and the minister who bu- 
ried Gosford, and who lived at that time in Dublin, had been 
dead some time. This was disheartening and melancholy 


^32 


BIOAMt OR NO BIGAMY? 


env*ugh ; and, as if to give our unfortunate client the coup-de^ 
grace.^ Mr. Jackson, junior, marched into the office just after I 
had read it, to say that, having been referred by Lady Seyton 
to us for explanations, with respect to a statement made by 
a Mr. Edward Chilton to the Honorable James Kingston, 
for whom they, the Messrs. Jackson, were now acting, by 
which it appeared that the said Honorable James Kingston 
was, in fact, the true Earl of Seyton, he, Mr. Jackson, junior, 
would be happy to hear what 1 had to say upon the subject ! 
It needed but this. Chilton had, as I feared he would, after 
finding we had been consulted, sold his secret, doubtless advan- 
tageously, to the heir-at-law. There was still, however, a 
chance that something favorable might turn up, and, as I had 
no notion of throwing that chance away, I carelessly replied 
that we had reason to believe Chilton’s story was a malicious 
fabrication, and that we should of course throw on them the 
onus of judicial proof that Gosford was still alive when the late 
earl’s marriage was solemnized. Finally, however, to please 
Mr. Jackson, who professed to be very anxious, for the lady’s 
sake, to avoid unnecessary eclat, and to arrange the affair as 
quietly as possible, I agreed to meet him at Lady Seyton ’s in 
four days from that time, and hear the evidence upon which he 
relied. This could not at all events render our position worse ; 
and it was, meanwhile, agreed that the matter should be kept 
as far as possible profoundly secret. • 

Three days passed without any further tidings from Mr. Flint, 
and I vehemently feared that his journey had proved a fruitless 
one, when, on the evening previous to the day appointed for the 
conference at Seyton House, a hackney-coach drove rapidly up 
to the office door, and out popped Mr. Flint, followed by twc 
strangers, whom he very watchfully escorted into the house. 


BIOAMT OR NO BIOAMT? 


233 


“ Mr. Patrick Mullins and Mr Pierce Cunningham,” said 
Flint as he shook hands with me in a way which, in conjunc- 
tion with the merry sparkle of his eyes, and the boisterous tone 
of his voice, assured me all was right. “ Mr. Pierce Cunning- 
ham will sleep here to-night,” he added ; “ so Collins had bet- 
ter engage a bed out.” 

Cunningham, an ill-looking lout of a fellow, muttered, that 
he chose “ to sleep at a tavern.” 

“ Not if I know it, my fine fellow,” rejoined Mr. Flint. 

“ You mean well, I dare say ; hut I cannot lose sight of you 
for all that You either sleep here or at a station-house.” 

The man stared with surprise and alarm ; but knowing re- 
fusal or resistance to be hopeless, sullenly assented to the 
arrangement, and withdrew to the room appointed for him, 
vigilantly guarded. For Mr. Mullins we engaged a bed at a 
neighboring tavern. 

Mr. Flint’s mission had been skillfully and successfully accom- 
plished. He was convinced, by the sullen confusion of man- 
ner manifested by Cunningham, that some villainous agency had 
been at work, and he again waited on Mullins, the stone-cutter. 

“ Who gave you the order for the grave-stone ?” he asked. 
Mr. Mullins referred to his book, and answered that he received 
it by letter. “ Had he got that letter?” “ Very likely,” he 
replied, “ as he seldom destroyed business papers of any kind.” 

“ A search was instituted, and finally this letter,” said Mr. 
Flint, “ worth an earl’s coronet, torn and dirty as it is, turned 
up.” This invaluable document, which bore the London post- 
date of June 23, 1832, ran as follows : — 

“ Anglesea Hotel, Haymarket, London, Jv/m 23, 1832. 

“ Sir — P lease to erect a plain tomb-stone at the head of ^ 


231 


31GAMY OR NO BIGAMY? 


Charles Gosford, Esquire’s grave, who died a few month’s since 
lit Swords, aged thirty-two years. This is all that need be in- 
scribed upon it. You are referred to Mr. Guinness of Sack- 
ville Street, Dublin, for payment. Your obedient servant, 

“Edward Chilton.” 

“ You see,” continued Flint, “ the fellow had inadvertently 
left out the date of Gosford’s death, merely stating it occurred 
a few months previously ; and Mullins concluded that, in enter- 
ing the order ir his day-book, he must have somehow or other 
confounded the date of the letter with that of Gosford’s de- 
cease. Armed with this precious discovery, I again sought 
Cunningham, and by dint of promises and threats, at last got 
the truth out of the rascal. It was this : — Chilton, who returned 
to this country from the Cape, where he had resided for three 
years previously, about two months ago, having some business 
to settle in Dublin, went over there, and one day visited Swords, 
read the inscription on Charles Gosford’s grave-stone, and im- 
mediately sought out the grave-digger, and asked him if he had 
any record of that gentleman’s burial. Cunningham said he 
had, and produced his book, by whi.h it appeared that it took 
place December 24, 1831. “ That cannot be,” remarked 

Chilton, and he referred to the head-stone. Cunningham said 
he had noticed the mistake a few days after it was erected ; but 
thinking it of no consequence, and never having, that he knew 
of, seen Mr. Mullins since, he had said, and indeed thought, 
nothing about it. To conclude the story — Chilton ultimately, 
by payment of ten pounds down, and liberal promises for the 
future, prevailed upon the grave-digger to lend himself to the 
infamous device the sight of the grave-stone had suggested to 
his fertile, unscrupulous brain.” 


BIGAMY OR NO 5 I A M / 


235 


This was indeed a glorious succ..ss, and the; tirn/ oi J'liiit and 
Sharp drank the Countess of S^yton’s health that evening with 
great enthusiasm, and gleefully “ thought of the morrow ” 

We found the drawing-room of Seyton House occupied by 
the Honorable James Kingston, his solicitors, the Messrs. Jack- 
son, Lady Seyton, and her father and sister, to whom she had 
at length disclosed the source of her disquietude. The children 
were leaving the apartment as we entered it, and the grief-dim- 
med eyes of the countess rested sadly upon her bright-eyed 
boy as he slowly withdrew with his sisters. That look changed 
to one of wild surprise as it encountered Mr. Flint’s shining, 
good-humored countenance. I was more composed and re- 
served than my partner, though feeling as vividly as he did the 
satisfaction of being able not only to dispel Lady Seyton’s an- 
guish, but to extinguish the exultation, and trample on th^^ 
hopes, of the Honorable James Kingston, a stiff, grave, middie- 
aged piece of hypocritical propriety, who was surveying from 
out the corners of his affectedly-unobservant eyes the furniture 
and decorations of the splendid apartment, and hugging him- 
self with the thought that all that was his ! Business was im- 
diately proceeded with. Chilton was called in. He repeated 
his former story verhativi^ and with much fluency and confi- 
dence. He then placed in the hands of Jackson, senior, the 
vouchers signed by Cunningham and Mullins. The transient 
light faded from Lady ' Seyton’s countenance as she turned 
despairingly, almost accusingly, towards us. 

“ What answer have you to make to this gentleman’s state- 
ment, thus corroborated demanded Jackson, senior. 

“ Quite a remarkable one,” replied Mr. Flint, as he rang the 
bell. “ Desire the gentlemen in the library to step up,” ho 
added to the footman who answered the summons. In about 


236 


BIGAMY OR NO BIGAMY r* 


three minutes in marched Cunningham and Mullins, followed 
by two police-officers. An irrepressible exclamation of terror 
escaped Chilton, which was immediately echoed by Mr. Flint’s 
direction to the police, as he pointed towards the trembling 
caitiff : “ That is your man — secure him.” 

A storm of exclamations, questions, remonstrances, instantly 
broke forth, and it was several minutes before attention could 
be obtained for the statements of our two Irish witnesses and 
the reading of the happily-found letter. The effect of the evi- 
dence adduced was decisive, electrical. Lady Seyton, as its fiill 
significance flashed upon her, screamed with convulsive joy, and 
I thought must have fainted from excess of emotion. The 
Rev. John Hayley returned audible thanks to Grod in a voice 
quivering with rapture, and Miss Hayley ran out of the apart- 
ment, and presently returned with the children, who were im- 
mediately half-smothered with their mother’s ecstatic kisses. 
All was for a few minutes bewilderment, joy, rapture ! Flint 
persisted to his dying day, that Lady Seyton threw her arms 
round his neck, and kissed his bald old forehead. This, how- 
ever, I cannot personally vouch for, as my attention was en- 
gaged at the moment by the adverse claimant, the Honorable 
James Kingston, who exhibited one of the most irresistibly 
comic, wo-begone, lackadaisical aspects it is possible to con- 
ceive. He made a hurried and most undignified exit, and was 
immediately followed by the discomfited “ family ” soficitors. 
Chilton was conveyed to a station-house, and the next day was 
fully committed for trial. He was convicted at the next ses- 
sions, and sentenced to seven years’ transportation ; and the 
celebrated ” firm of Flint and Sharp, derived considerable 
lustre, and more profit, from this successful stroke of profes-* 
nonal dexterity 


JANE E COLES 

The criminal business of the office was, during the first three 
or four years of our partnership, entirely superintended by Mr 
Flint ; he being more au fait, from early practice, than myself 
in the art and mystery of prosecuting and defending felons, and 
I was thus happily relieved of duties which, in the days when 
George III. was king, were frequently very oppressive and re- 
volting. The criminal practitioner dwelt in an atmosphere 
tainted alike with cruelty and crime, and pulsating alternately 
with merciless decrees of death, and the shrieks and wailings 
of sentenced guilt. And not always guilt ! There exist many 
records of proofs, incontestable, but obtained too late, of inno- 
cence having been legally strangled on the gallows in other 
cases than that of Eliza Penning. How could it be otherwise 
with a criminal code crowded in every line with penalties of 
death, nothing but — death .? Juster, wiser times have dawned 
upon us, in which truer notions prevail of what man owes to 
man, even when sitting in judgment on transgressors ; and this 
we owe, let us not forget, to the exertions of a band of men 
who, undeterred by the sneers of the reputedly wise and prac- 
tical men of the world, and the taunts of influential” news- 
papers, persisted in teaching that the rights of property could 
be more firmly cemented than by the shedding of blood — law, 
justice, personal security more efiectually vindicated than by 
the gallows. Let me confess that I also was, for many years, 


238 


JAN£ ECCLES. 


amongst the mockers, and sincerely held such “ theorists” and 
“ dreamers” as Sir Samuel Romilly and his fellow-workers in 
utter contempt. Not so my partner, Mr. Flint. Constantly in 
the presence of criminal judges and juries, he had less confi- 
dence in the unerring verity of their decisions than persons less 
familiar with them, or who see them only through the medium 
of newspapers. Nothing could exceed his distress of mind if, 
in cases in which he was prosecuting attorney, a convict died 
persisting in his innocence, or without a full confession of guilt. 
And to such a pitch did this morbidly-sensitive feeling at length 
arrive, that he all at once refused to undertake, or in any way 
meddle with, criminal prosecutions, and they were consequently 
turned over to our head clerk, with occasional assistance from 
me if there happened to be a press of business of the sort. 
Mr. Flint still, however, retained a monopoly of the defences^ 
except when, from some temporary cause or other, he happened 
to be otherwise engaged, when they fell to me. One of these 
I am about to relate, the result of which, whatever other im- 
pression it produced, thoroughly cured me — as it may the reader 
— of any propensity to sneer or laugh at criminal-law reformers 
and denouncers of the gallows. 

One forenoon, during the absence of Mr. Flint in Wiltshire, 
a Mrs. Margaret Davies calk d at the office, in apparently great 
distress of mind. This lady, I must premise, was an old, or at 
all events an elderly maiden, of some four-and-forty years of 
age — I have heard a very intimate female friend of hers say 
she would never see fifty again, but this was spite — and pos- 
sessed of considerable house property in rather poor localities. 
She found abundant employment for energies which might 
otherwise have turned to cards and scandal, in collecting her 
weekly, monthly, and quarterly rents, and in promoting, or 


lANE ECCLE8. 


239 


fancying she did, the religious and moral welfare of her tenants 
Very bare-faced, I well knew, were the impositions practiced 
upon l^er credulous good-nature in money matters, and I strongly 
suspected the spiritual and moral promises and performances of 
her motley tenantry exhibited as much discrepancy as those per- 
taining to rent. Still, deceived or cheated as she might be, 
good Mrs. Davies never wearied in what she conceived to be 
well-doing, and was ever ready to pour balm and oil into the 
wounds of the sufferer, however self-inflicted or deserved. 

“ What is the matter now I asked as soon as the good 
lady was seated, and had untied and loosened her bonnet, and 
thrown back her shawl, fast walking having heated her pro- 
digiously. “ Nothing worse than transportation is, I hope, 
likely to befall any of those interesting clients of yours 

You are a hard-hearted man, Mr. Sharp,” replied Mrs. 
Davies between a smile and a cry ; “ but being a lawyer, that 
is of course natural, and, as I am not here to consult you as a 
Christian, of no consequence.” 

“ Complimentary, Mrs. Davies ; but pray, go on.” 

“ You know Jane Eccles, one of my tenants in Bank Build- 
ings — the embroidress who adopted her sister’s orphan child 

“ I remember her name. She obtained, if I recollect rightly, 
a balance of‘ wages for her due to the child’s father, a mate, who 
died at sea. Well, what has befallen her .?” 

“ A terrible accusation has been preferred against her,” re- 
joined Mrs. Davies ; “ but as for a moment believing it, that is 
quite out of the question. Jane Eccles,” continued the warm- 
hearted lady, at the same time extracting a crumpled newspaper 
from the miscellaneous contents of her reticule — “ Jane Eccles 
works hard from morning till night, keeps herself to herself j 

her little nephew and her rooms are always as clean and nice as 
16 


240 


JANE 3CCLE8. 


a new pin ; she attends church regularly ; and pays her rent 
punctually to the day. This disgraceful story, therefore,” she 
added, placing the journal in my hands, “ cannot be -true.” 

I glanced over the police news : — ‘ Uttering forged Bank-of- 
England notes, knowing them to be forged I exclaimed, “ The 
devil !” 

“ There’s no occasion to be spurting that name out so loudly, 
Mr. Sharp,” said Mrs. Davies with some asperity, “ especially 
in a lawyer’s office. People have been wrongfully accused be- 
fore to-day, I suppose 

I was intent on the report, and not answering, she continued, 

I heard nothing of it till I read the shameful account in the 
paper half an hour agone. The poor slandered girl w%s, I dare 
say, afraid or ashamed to send for me.” 

“ This appears to he a very bad case, Mrs. Davies,” I said 
at length. “ Three forged ten-pound notes changed in one day 
at different shops each time, under the pretence of purchasing 
articles of small amount, and another ten-pound note found in 
her pocket ! All that has, I must say, a very ugly look.” 

“ I don’t care,” exclaimed Mrs. Davies quite fiercely, “ if 
it looks as ugly as sin, or if the whole Bank' of England was 
found in her pocket ! I know Jane Eccles well ; she nursed 
me last spring through the fever ; and I would be upon my 
oath that the whole story, from beginning to end, is an inven- 
tion of the devil, or something worse.” 

“ Jane Eccles,” I persisted, “ appears to have been unable 
or unwilling to give the slightest explanation as to how she be- 
came possessed of the spurious notes. Who is this brother of 
hers, ‘ of such highly respectable appearance,’ according to the 
report, who was permitted a private interview with her previous 
to the examination 


JANE KCCLS8. 


241 


“ She has no b'-other that I have ever heard of,” said Mrs. 
Davies. “ It must be a mistake of the papers.” 

“ That is not likely. You observed of course that she was 
fully committed — and no wonder !” 

Mrs. Davies’s faith in the young woman’s integrity was not 
to be shaken by any evidence save that of her own bodily eyes, 
and I agreed to see Jane Eccles on the morrow, and mak the 
best arrangements for the defence — at Mrs. Davies’ chai ^e — 
which the circumstances and the short time I should h» , e for 
preparation — the Old Bailey session would be on in a few days — 
permitted. The matter so far settled, Mrs. Margaret hurried 
off to see what had become of little Henry, the prisoner’s 
nephew. 

I visited Jane Eccles the next day in Newgate. She was a 
well-grown young woman of about two or three-and-twenty — 
not exactly pretty perhaps, but very well-looking. Her brown 
hair was plainly worn, without a cap, and the expression of her 
face was, I thought, one of sweetness and humility, contra- 
dicted in some degree by rather harsh lines about the mouth, 
denoting strong will and purpose. As a proof of the existence 
of this last characteristic, I may here mention that, when her 
first overweening confidence had yielded to doubt, she, although 
dotingly fond of her nephew, at this time about eight years of 
age, firmly refused to see him, “ in order,” she once said to 
me — and the thought brought a deadly pallor to her face — “ in 
order that, should the worst befall, her memory might not be 
involuntarily connected in his mind with images of dungeons, 
and disgrace, and shame. Jane Eccles had received what ia 
called in the country, “ a good schooling,” and the books Mrs. 
Davies had lent her she had eagerly perused. She was there- 
fore to a certain extent a cultivated person ; and. her speeok 


242 


JANE ECCLE8. 


and manners were mild, gentle, and, so to speak, religious. 1 
generally found, when I visited h.er, a Bible or prayer-book in 
her hand. This, however, from my experience, comparatively 
slight though it was, did not much impress me in her favor — 
devotional sentiment so easily, for a brief time, assumed, being 
in nine such cases out of ten a hypocritical deceit. Still she, 
upon the whole, made a decidedly favorable impression on me, 
and I no longer so much wondered at the bigotry of unbelief 
manifested by Mrs. Davies in behalf of her apparently amiable 
and grateful protegee. 

But beyond the moral doubt thus suggested of the prisoner’s 
guilt, my interviews with her utterly failed to extract anything 
from her in rebutment of the charge upon which she was about 
to be arraigned. At first she persisted in asserting that the 
prosecution was based upon manifest error ; that the impounded 
notes, instead of being forged, were genuine Bank-of-England 
paper. It was some time before I succeeded in convincing her 
that this hope, to which she so eagerly, desperately clung, was 
a fallacious one. I did so at last ; and either, thought I, as I 
marked her varying color and faltering voice, “ either you are 
a consummate actress, or else the victim of some frightful delu- 
sion or conspiracy.” 

“ I will see you, if you please, to-morrow,” she said, looking 
up from the chair upon which, with her head bowed and her 
face covered with her hands, she had been seated for several 
minutes in silence. My thoughts are confused now, but to- 
morrow I shall be more composed ; better able to decide if 

to talk, I mean, of this unhappy business.” 

I thought it better to comply without remonstrance, and at 
once took my leave. 

When I returned the next afternoon, the governor of the 


JANE ECCLES. 


248 


prison informed me that the brother of my client, James Eccles 
quite a dashing gentleman, had had a long interview with her 
He had left about two hours before, with the intention, he said, 
of calling upon me. 

I was conducted to the room where my conferences with the 
prisoner usually took place. In a few minutes she appeared, 
much flushed and excited, it seemed to be alternately with 
trembling joy and hope, and doubt, and nervous fear. 

“ Well,” I said, “ I trust you are now ready to give me 
your unreserved confidence, without which, be assured, that any 
reasonable hope of a successful issue from the peril in which 
you are involved is out of the question.” 

The varying emotions I have noticed were clearly traceable 
as they swept over her tell-tale countenance during the minute 
or so that elapsed before she spoke. 

“ Tell me candidly, sir,” she said at last, “ whether, if I 
owned to you that the notes were given to me by a — a person, 
whom I cannot, if I would, produce, to purchase various articles 
at different shops, and return him — the person I mean — the 
change ; and that I made oath this was done by me in all inno- 
cence of heart, as the God heaven and earth truly knows it 
was, it would avail me .?” 

“ Not in the least,” I replied, angry at such trifling. 
‘‘ How can you ask such a question .? We must find the per- 
son who, you intimate, has deceived you, and placed your life 
in peril ; and if that can be proved, hang him instead of you. 
[ speak plainly. Miss Eccles,” I added in a milder tone; 
“ perhaps you may think unfeelingly, but there is no further 
time for playing with this dangerous matter. To-morrow a true 
bill will be found against you, and your trial may then come on 
immediately. If you are careless for yourself, you ought to 


244 


JANE ECCLE8. 


have some thought for the suflFerings of your excellent friend, 
Mrs. Davies ; for your nephew, soon perhaps to he left friend- 
less and destitute.” 

“ Oh spare me — spare me !” sobbed the unhappy young 
woman, sinking nervelessly into a seat. “ Have pity upon me, 
wretched, bewildered as I am !” Tears relieved her, and after 
awhile, she said, “ It is useless, sir, to prolong this interview. 
[ could not, I solemnly assure you, if I would, tell you where 
to search for or find the person of whom I spoke. And,” she 
added, whilst the lines about her mouth of which I ha ve spoken, 
grew distinct and rigid, “ I would not if I could. What indeed 
would it, as I have been told and believe, avail, but to cause 
the death of two deceived innocent persons instead of one ? 
Besides,” she continued, trying to speak with firmness, and re- 
press the shudder which crept over and shook her as with ague 
— “ besides, whatever the verdict, the penalty will not, cannot, 
I am sure, T know, be — be” 

I understood her plainly enough, although her resolution 
failed to sustain her through the sentence. 

“ Who is this brother — James Eccles, he calls himself — whom 
you saw at the police-oflBce, and who has twice been here, I un- 
derstand — once to-day .?” 

A quick start revealed the emotion with which she heard 
the question, and her dilated eyes rested upon me for a 
moment with eager scrutiny. She speedily recovered her pre- 
sence of mind, and with her eyes again fixed on the floor, said 
in a quivering voice, “ My brother ! Yes — as you say — my 
brother.” 

“ Mrs. Davies says you have no brother !” I sharply 
rejoined. 

“ Hood Mrs. Davies,” she replied in a tone scarcely above a 


JANfi fiCCLES. 


245 


vrhisper, and without raising her head, “ does not know all oui 
family.” 

A subterfuge was, I was confident, concealed in these words ; 
but after again and again urging her to confide in me, and find- 
ing warning and persuasion alike useless, I withdrew, discomfited 
and angry, and withal as much concerned and grieved as 
baffled and indignant. On going out, I arranged with the 
governor that the “ brother,” if he again made his appearance, 
should be detained, hongre malgre^ till my arrival. Our pre- 
caution was. too late — ^he did not reappear ; and so little notice 
had any one taken of his person, that to advertise a description 
of him with a reward for his apprehension was hopeless. 

A true bill was found, and two hours afterwards Jane Eccles 
was placed in the dock. The trial did not last more than 
twenty minutes, at the end of which, an unhesitating verdict of 
guilty was returned, and she was duly sentenced to be hanged 
by the neck till she was dead. We had retained the ablest 
counsel practicing in the court, but, with no tangible defence, 
their efforts were merely thrown away. Upon being asked 
what she had to say why the sentence of the law should not be 
carried into effect } she repeated her previous statement — that 
the notes had been given her to change by a person in whom 
she reposed the utmost confidence ; and that she had not the 
slightest thought of evil or fraud in what she did. That person, 
however, she repeated once more, could not be produced. Her 
assertions only excited a derisive smile ; and all necessary forms 
having been gone through, she was removed from the bar. 

The unhappy woman bore the ordeal through which she had 
just passed with much firmness. Once only, whilst sentence 
was being passed, her high-strung resolution appeared to falter 
and give way. 1 wa‘ watching her intently, and I observed 


246 


JANE ECCLE8. 


that she suddenly directed a piercing look towards a distant part 
of the crowded court. In a moment her eye lightened, the ex- 
pression of extreme horror which had momently darkened her 
countenance passed away, and her partial composure returned. 
I had instinctively, as it were, followed her glance, and thought 
I detected a tall man enveloped in a cloak engaged in dumb 
momentary communication with her. I jumped up from my 
seat, and hastened as quickly as I could through the thronged 
passages to the spot, and look d eagerly around, but the man, 
whosoever he might be, was gone. 

The next act in this sad drama was the decision of the Privy 
Council upon the recorder’s report. It came. Several were 
reprieved, but amongst them was not Jane Eccles. She and 
nine others were to perish at eight o’clock on the following 
morning. 

The anxiety and worry inseparable from this most unhappy 
affair, which, from Mr. Flint’s protracted absence, I had ex- 
clusively to bear, fairly knocked me up, and on the evening of 
the day on which the decision of the Council was received, I 
went to bed much earlier than usual, and really ill. Sleep I 
could not, and I was tossing restlessly about, vainly endeavor- 
ing to banish from my mind the gloomy and terrible images 
connected with the wretched girl and her swiftly-coming fate, 
when a quick tap sounded on the door, and a servant’s voice 
announced that one of the clerks had brought a letter which the 
superscription directed to be read without a moment’s delay. I 
sprang out of bed, snatched the letter, and eagerly ran it over, 
[t was from the Newgate chaplain, a very worthy, humane 
gentleman, and stated that, on hearing the result of the de- 
liberations of the Privy Council, all the previous stoicism and 
fortitude exhibited by Jane Eccles had completely given way, 


JANE ECCLE8. 


247 


and she had abandoned herself to the wildest terror and de- 
spair. As soon as she could speak coherently, she implored the 
governor with frantic earnestness to send for me. As this was 
not only quite useless in the opinion of that official, but against 
the rules, the prisoner’s request was not complied with. The 
chaplain, however, thinking it might be as well that I should 
know of her desire to see me, had of his own accord sent me 
this note. He thought that possibly the sheriffs would permit 
me to have a brief int^^rview with the condemned prisoner in 
the morning, if I arrived sufficiently early ; and although it 
could avail nothing as regarded her fate in this world, still it 
might perhaps calm the frightful tumult of emotion by which 
she was at present tossed and shaken, and enable her to meet 
the inevitable hour with fortitude and resignation. 

It was useless to return to bed after receiving such a commu- 
nication, and I forthwith dressed myself, determined to sit up 
and read, if I could, till the hour at which I might hope to be 
admitted to the jail, should strike. Slowly and heavily the dark 
night limped away, and as the first rays of the cold wintry dawn 
reached the earth, I sallied forth. A dense, brutal crowd were 
already assembled in front of the prison, and hundreds of well- 
dressed sight-seers occupied the opposite windows, morbidly 
eager for the rising of the curtain upon the mournful tragedy 
about to be enacted. I obtained admission without much diffi- 
culty, but, till the arrival of the sheriffs, no conference with the 
condemned prisoners could be possibly permitted. Those 
important functionaries happened on this morning to arrive un- 
usually late, and I paced up and down the paved corridor in a 
fever of impatience and anxiety. They were at last announced, 
but before I could, in the hurry and confusion, obtain speech of 
either of them, the dismal bell tolled out, and I felt with a 


248 


JANS SOCLES. 


shudder that it was no longer possible to effect my object. 
“ Perhaps it is better so,” observed the reverend chaplain, in a 
whisper. “ She has been more composed for the last two or 
three hours, and is now, I trust, in a better frame of mind for 
death.” I turned, sick at heart, to leave the place, and in my 
agitation missing the right way, came directly in view of the 
terrible procession. Jane Eccles saw me, and a terrihc scream, 
followed by frantic heart-rending appeals to me to save her, 
burst with convulsive effort from her white quivering lips. 
Never will the horror of that moment pass from my remem- 
brance. I staggered back, as if every spasmodic word struck 
me like a blow ; and then, directed by one of the turnkeys, 
sped in an opposite direction as fast as my trembling limbs 
could carry me — the shrieks of the wretched victim, the tolling 
of the dreadful bell, and the obscene jeers and mocks of th( 
foul crowd through which I had to force my way, evoking a 
confused tumult of disgust and horror in my brain, which, if 
long continued, would have driven me mad. On reaching 
home, I was bled freely, and got to bed. This treatment, 1 
have no doubt, prevented a violent access of fever ; for, as it 
was, several days passed before I could be safely permitted to 
re-engage in business. 

On revisiting the office, a fragment of a letter written by 
Jane Eccles a few hours previous to her death, and evidently 
addressed to Mrs. Davies, was placed by Mr. Flint, who had by 
this time returned, before me. The following is an exact copy 
of it, with the exception that the intervals which I have marked 
with dots, .... were filled with erasures and blots, and that 
every word seemed to have been traced by a hand smitten with 
palsy : — 


JANE ECCLE8. 


249 


From my Death-place, Midnight. 

“ Dear Madam — No, beloved friend — mother, let me cal 

you Oh kind, gentle mother, I am to die to 

be killed in a few hours by cruel men ! — I, so young, so unpre- 
pared for death, and yet guiltless ! Oh never doubt that I am 
guiltless of the offence for which they will have the heart to 

hang me Nobody, they say, can save me now ; yet 

if I could see the lawyer I have been deceived, cruelly 

deceived, madam — buoyed up by lying hopes, till just now the 

thunder burst, and I — oh God ! As they spoke, the 

fearful chapter in the Testament came bodily before me — the 
rending of the vail in twain, the terrible darkness, and the 


opened graves ! I did not write for this, but my brain 

aches and dazzles It is too late — too late, they all tell 


me ! Ah, if these dreadful laws were not so swift, I 

might yet — but no ; ht clearly proved to me how useless 

I must not think of that It is of my nephew, of your 

Henry, child of my affections, that I would speak. Oh, would 


that I But hark ! — they are coming The day 

has dawned to me the day of judgment ! ” 


This incoherent scrawl only confirmed my previous suspicions, 
but it was useless to dwell further on the melancholy subject. 
The great axe had fallen, and whether justly or unjustly, would, 
I feared, as in many, very many other cases, never be clearly 
ascertained in this world. I was mistaken. Another case of 
“ uttering forged Bank-of-England notes, knowing them to bo 
forged,” which came under our cognizance a few months after- 
wards, revived the fading memory of Jane Eccles’s early doom, 
and cleared up every obscurity connected with it. 

The offender in this new case, was a tall, dark-complexioned, 


250 


JANE ECCLE8. 


handsome man, of about thirty years of age, of the name of 
Justin Arnold. His lady mother, whose real name I shall con- 
ceal under that of Barton, retained us for her son’s defence, 
and from her, and other sources, we learned the following par- 
ticulars : — 

Justin Arnold was the lady’s son by a former marriage. 
Mrs. Barton, a still splendid woman, had, in second nuptials, 
espoused a very wealthy person, and from time to time had 
covertly supplied Justin Arnold’s extravagance. This, how- 
ever, from the wild course the young man pursued, could not 
be forever continued, and after many warnings the supplies 
were stopped. Incapable of reformation, Justin Arnold, in order 
to obtain the means of dissipation, connected himself with a 
cleverly-organized band of swindlers and forgers, who so adroit- 
ly managed their nefarious business, that, till his capture, they 
had contrived to keep themselves clear of the law — the inferior 
tools and dupes having been alone caught in its fatal meshes. 
The defence, under these circumstances necessarily a difficult, 
almost impossible one, was undertaken by Mr. Flint, and con- 
ducted by him with his accustomed skill and energy. 

I took a very slight interest in the matter, and heard very lit- 
tle concerning it till its Judicial conclusion by the conviction of the 
offender, and his condemnation to death. The decision on the 
recorder’s report was this time communicated to the authorities 
of Newgate on a Saturday, so that the batch ordered for execu- 
tion, amongst whom was Justin Arnold, would not be hanged 
till the Monday morning. Rather late in the evening a note 
once more reached me from the chaplain of the prison. Justin 
Arnold wished to see me — wie, not Mr. Flint. He had some- 
thing of importance to communicate, he said, relative to a per- 
son in whom I had once felt great interest. It flashed across 


JANE ECCLE8. 


251 


me that this Justin might be the ‘‘brother” of Jane Eccles^ 
and I determined to see him. I immediately sought out one 
of the sheriffs, and obtained an order empowering me to see 
the prisoner on the afternoon of the morrow, (Sunday). 

I found that the convict had expressed great anxiety lest I 
should decline to see him. My hoped-for visit was the only 
matter which appeared to occupy the mind or excite the care 
of the mocking, desperate young man ; even the early and 
shameful termination of his own life on the morrow, he seemed 
to be utterly reckless of. Thus prepared, I was the less sur- 
prised at the scene which awaited me in the prisoner’s cell, 
where I found him in angry altercation with the pale and af- 
frighted chaplain. 

I had never seen Justin Arnold before , this I was convinced 
of the instant I saw him ; but he knew and greeted me instant- 
ly by name. His swarthy, excited features were flushed and 
angry ; and after briefly thanking me for complying with his 
wishes, he added in a violent rapid tone, “ This good man has 
been teasing me. He says, and truly, that I have defied Grod 
by my life ; and now he wishes me to mock that inscrutable 
Being, on the eve of death, by words without sense, meaning, or 
truth !” 

“ No, no, no !” ejaculated the reverend gentleman. “ I ex- 
horted you to true repentance, to peace, charity, to” 

“ True repentance, peace, charity !” broke in the prisoner, 
with a scornful burst ; “ when my heart is full of rage, and bit- 
terness, and despair ! Grive me time for this repentance which 
you say is so needful — time to lure back long since banished , 
hope, and peace, and faith ! Poh ! — ^you but flout me with 
words without meaning. I am unfit, you say, for the presence 
of men, but quite fit for that of God, before whom you are 


252 


JANE ECCLE8. 


about to arrogantly cast me ! Be it so — my deeds are upon 
my head ! It is at least not my fault that I am hurled to 
judgment before the Eternal Judge himself commanded my 
presence there !” 

‘‘ He may be unworthy to live,” murmured the scared chap- 
lain, “ but oh, how utterly unfit to die !” 

‘‘ That is true,” rejoined J ustin Arnold, with undiminished 
vehemence. “ Those, if you will, are words of truth and sense 
— go you and preach them to the makers and executioners of 
English law. In the meantime I would speak privately with 
this gentleman.” 

The reverend pastor, with a mute gesture of compassion, sor- 
row, and regret, was about to leave the cell, when he was 
stayed by the prisoner, who exclaimed, “ Now, I think of it, you 
had better, sir, remain. The statement I am about to make 
cannot, for the sake of the victim’s reputation, and for her 
friends’ sake, have too many witnesses. You both remember 
Jane Eccles -A broken exclamation from both of us an- 
swered him, and he quickly added — “ Ah, you already guess the 
truth, I see. Well, I dp not wonder you should start and turn 
pale. It was a cruel, shameless deed — a dastardly murder if 
there was ever one. In as few words as possible, so you inter- 
rupt me not, I will relate my share in the atrocious business.” 
He spoke rapidly, and once or twice during the brief recital, 
the moistened eye and husky voice betrayed emotions which his 
pride would have concealed. 

“ Jane and I were born in Hertfordshire, within a short dis- 
tance of each other. I knew her from a child. She was bet- 
ter off then, I worse than we subsequently became — she by her 

father’s bankruptcy, I by my mo , by Mrs. Barton’s wealthy 

marriage. She was about nineteen, I twenty-four, when I left 


JANE ECULEA 


2 


the country for London. That she loved me with all the fer- 
vor of a trusting woman I well knew ; and I had, too, for some 
time known that she must be either honorably wooed or not at 
all. That with me, was out of the question, and, as I told you, 
I came about that time to London. You can, I dare say, 
imagine the rest. We were — I and my friends, I mean — at a 
loss for agents to dispose of our wares, and at the same time 
pressed for money. I met Jane Eccles by accident. Genteel, 
of graceful address and winning manners, she was just fitted for 
our purpose. I feigned re-awakened love, proffered marriage, 
and a home across the Atlantic, as soon as certain trifling but 
troublesome affairs which momently harassed me were arranged. 
She believed me. I got her to change a considerable number 
of notes under various pretexts, but that they were forged she 
had not and could not have the remotest suspicion. You know 
the catastrophe. After her apprehension I visited this prison as 
her brother, and buoyed her up to the last with illusions of 
certain pardon and release, whatever the verdict, through the 
influence of my wealthy father-in-law, of our immediate union 
afterwards, and tranquil American home. It is needless to 
say more. She trusted me, and I sacrificed her ; less flagrant 
instances of a like nature occur every day. And now, gen- 
tlemen, I would fain be alone.” 

“Remorseless villain!”! could not help exclaiming under 
my breath as he moved away. 

He turned quickly back, and looking me in the face, without 
the slightest anger, said,“ An execrable villain if you like— not 
a remorseless one I Her death alone sits near, and troubles 
my, to all else, hardened conscience. And let me tell you, 
reverend sir,” he continued, resuming his former bitterness as 
he adressed the chaplain — “ let mo tell you that it was not the 


254 


JANE ECCLES. 


solemn words of the judge the other day, but her pale, reproach- 
ful image, standing suddenly beside me in the dock, just as 
she looked when I passed my last deception on her, that caused 
the tremor and affright, complacently attributed by that grave 
functionary to his own sepulchral eloquence. After all, her 
death cannot be exclusively laid to my charge. Those who tried 
her would not believe her story, and yet it was true as death. 
Had they not been so confident in their own unerring wisdom, 
they might have doomed her to some punishment short of the 
scaffold, and could now have retrieved their error. But I am 
weary, and would, I repeat, be alone. Farewell !” He threw 
himself on the rude pallet, and we silently withdrew. 

A paper embodying Justin Arnold’s declaration was for- 
warded to the secretary of state, and duly acknowledged, ac- 
companied by an official expression of mild regret that it had 
not been made in time to save the life of Jane Eccles. No 
further notice was taken of the matter, and the record of the 
young woman’s judicial sacrifice still doubtless encumbers the 
archives of the Home Office, forming, with numerous others of 
like character, the dark, sanguine background upon which the 
achievements of the great and good men who have so success- 
lully purged the old Draco code that now a faint vestige only 
of the old barbarism remains, stands out in bright relief and 
changeless lustre. 


# 


“EVERY MAN HIS OWN LAWYER.” 


A SMARTER trader, a keener appreciator of the tendencies to a 
rise or fall in colonial produce — sugars more especially — than 
John Linden, of Mincing Lane, it would have been difficult to 
point out in the wide city of London. He was not so immensely 
rich as many others engaged in the same merchant-traffic as 
himself ; nothing at all like it, indeed, for I doubt that he could 
at any time have been esteemed worth more than from eighty 
to ninety thousand pounds ; but his transactions, although limited 
in extent when compared with those of the mammoth colonial 
houses, almost always returned more or less of profit ; the result 
of his remarkable keenness and sagacity in scenting hurricanes, 
black insurrections, and emancipation bills, whilst yet inappre- 
ciable, or deemed afar off, by less sensitive organizations. At 
least to this wonderful prescience of future sugar-value did Mr. 
Linden himself attribute his rise in the world, and gradual in- 
crease in rotundity, riches, and respectability. This constant 
success engendered, as it is too apt to do, inordinate egotism, 
conceit, self-esteem, vanity. There was scarcely a social, 
governmental, or economical problem which he did not believe 
himself capable of solving as easily as he could eat his dinner 
when hungry. “ Common-sense business-habits” — his favorite 
phrase — he believed to be quite sufficient for the elucidation 
of the most difficult question in law, pTiysic, or divinity. The 
science of law, especially, he held to be an alphabet which any 
17 


256 


EVERT MAN HIS OWN LAWYER 




man — of common sense and business habits — could as easily 
master as he could count five on his fingers ; and there was no 
end to his ridicule of the men with horse-hair head-dresses, and 
their quirks, quiddits, cases, tenures, and such-like devil’s lingc. 
Lawyers, according to him, were a set of thorough humbugs and 
impostors, who gained their living by false pretence — that of 
affording advice and counsel, which every sane man could better 
render himself. He was unmistakably mad upon this subject, 
and he carried his insane theory into practice. He drew his 
own leases, examined the titles of some house-property he pur- 
chased, and set his hand and seal to the final deeds, guided only 
by his own common-sense spectacles. Once he bid, at the Auc- 
tion Mart, as high as fifty-three thousand pounds for the Holm- 
ford estate, Herefordshire ; and had he not been outbidden by 
young Palliser, son of the then recently-deceased eminent dis- 
tiller, who was eager to obtain the property, with a view to a 
seat in parliament which its possession was said to almost insure 
— he would, I had not at the time the slightest doubt, have 
completed the purchase, without for a moment dreaming of 
submitting the vender’s title to the scrutiny of a professional 
adviser. Mr. Linden, I should mention, had been for some 
time desirous of resigning his business in Mincing Lane to his 
son, Thomas Linden, the only child born to him by his long- 
since deceased wife, and of retiring, an estated squire-arch, to 
the otium cum., or siiie dignitate^ as the case might be, of a 
country life ; and this disposition had of late been much quick- 
ened by daily-increasing apprehensions of negro emancipation 
and revolutionary interference with differential duties — changes 
which, in conjunction with others of similar character, would 
infallibly bring about that utter commercial ruin wbich Mr. 
Linden, like every other rich and about-to-retire merchant oi 


EVERY MAN HIS OWN LAWYER. 


257 


ti 




tradesman whom I have ever known, constantly prophesied to 
be near at hand and inevitable. 

With such a gentleman the firm of Flint & Sharp had only 
professional interviews, when procrastinating or doubtful debtors 
required that he should put on the screw — a process which, I 
have no doubt, he would himself have confidently performed, 
but for the waste of valuable time which doing so would neces- 
sarily involve. Both Flint and myself were, however, privately 
intimate with him — Flint more especially, who had known him 
from boyhood — and we frequently dined with him on a Sunday 
at his little box at Fulham. Latterly, we had on these occa- 
sions met there a Mrs. Arnold and her daughter Catherine — an 
apparently amiable, and certainly very pretty and interesting 
young person — to whom, Mr. Linden confidentially informed us, 
his son Tom had been for some time engaged. 

“ I don’t know much about her family,” observed Mr. Lindefi 
one day, in the course of a gossip at the office, “ but she move# 
in very respectable society. Tom met her at the Slades’ ; but 
I do know she has something like thirty-five thousand pounds in 
the funds. The instant I was infonned how matters stood with 
the young folk, I, as a matter of common sense and business, 
asked the mother, Mrs. Arnold, for a reference to her banker 
or solicitor — there being no doubt that a woman and a minor 
would be in lawyers’ leading-strings — and she referred me to 
Messrs. Dobson of Chancery Lane. You know the Dobsons 

‘‘ Perfectly, — what was the reply 

“ That Catherine Arnold, when she came of age — it wants 
but a very short time of that now — would be entitled to the 
capital of thirty-Your thousand seven hundred pounds, be- 
queathed by an uncle, and now lodged in the funds in the 
names of the trustees, Crowther & Jenkins, of Leadenhall 


258 


EVERY MAN HIS OWN LAWYER. 






Street, by whom the interest on that sum was regularly paid, 
half-yearly, through the Messrs. Dobson, for the maintenance 
and education of the heiress. A common-sense, business-like 
letter in every respect, and extremely satisfactory ; and as soon 
as he pleases, after Catherine Arnold comes of age, and into 
actual possession of her fortune, Tom may have her, with my 
blessing over the bargain.” 

I dined at Laurel Villa, Fulham, about two months after this 
conversation, and Linden and I found ourselves alone over the 
dessert — the young people having gone out for a stroll, attracted 
doubtless by the gay aspect of the Thames, which flows past the 
miniature grounds attached to the villa. Never had I seen Mr. 
Linden in so gay, so mirthful a mood. 

“ Pass the decanter,” he exclaimed, the instant the door had 
closed upon Tom and his fiancee. “ Pass the decanter. Sharp ; 
T have news for you, my boy, now they are gone.” 

“ Indeed ! and what may the news be 

“ Fill a bumper for yourself, and I’ll give you a toast. Here’s 
to the health and prosperity of the proprietor of the Holmford 
estate ; and may he live a thousand years, and one over ! — Hip 
— ^hip — ^hurra !” 

He swallowed his glass of wine, and then, in his intensity of 
glee, laughed himself purple. 

‘‘ You needn’t stare so,” he said, as soon as he had partially 
recovered breath ; “ I am the proprietor of the Holmford pro- 
perty — bought it for fifty-six thousand pounds of that young 
scant-grace and spendthrift, Palliser — fifteen thousand pounds 
less than what it cost him, with the outlay he has made upon it. 
Signed, sealed, delivered, paid for yesterday. Ha ! ha ! ho ! 
Leave John Linden alone for a bargain ! It’s worth seventy 
thousand pounds if it’s worth a shilling. I say,” continued he, 


EVERT MAN HIS OWN LAWYER.' 


259 


fci. 


after a renewed spasm of exuberant mirth, “ not a word about it 
to anybody — mind ! I promised Palliser, who is quietly packing 
up to be off to Italy, or Australia, or Constantinople, or the 
devil — all of them, perhaps, in succession — not to mention a 
word about it till he was well off — you understand ? Ha ! ha ! 
— ho ! ho !” again burst out Mr. Linden. “ I pity the poor 
creditors though ! Bless you ! I should’nt have had it at any- 
thing like the price, only for his knowing that I was not likely 
to be running about exposing the affair, by asking lawyers 
whether an estate in a family’s possession, as this was in Durs- 
ley’s for three hundred years, had a good title or not. So be 
careful not to drop a word, even to Tom — for my honor’s sake 
A delicious bargain, and no mistake ! Worth, if a penny, 
seventy thousand pounds. Ha ! ha ! — ho ! ho !” 

“ Then you have really parted with that enormous sum of 
money without having had the title to the estate professionally 
examined 

“ Title ! Fiddlestick ! I looked over the deeds myself. Be- 
sides, haven’t I told you the ancestors of Dursley, from whose 
executors Palliser purchased the estate, were in possession of 
it for centuries. What better title than prescription can there 
be 

“ That may be true enough ; but still” 

“ I ought, you think, to have risked losing the bargain by 
delay, and have squandered time and money upon fellows in 
horse-hair wigs, in order to ascertain what I sufficiently well 
knew already } Pooh ! I am not in my second childhood yet !” 

It was useless to argue with him ; besides the mischief, if 
mischief there was, had been done, and the not long-delayed 
entrance of the young couple necessitating a change of topic, I 
innocently inquired what he thought of the Negro Emancipation 


260 


EVERY MAR HIS OWN LAWYER. 


(( 




Bill which Mr. Stanley, as the organ of the ministry, had intro- 
duced a few evenings previously ? and was rewarded by a perfect 
deluge of loquacious indignation and invective — during a pause 
in which hurly-burly of angry words I contrived to effect my 
escape. 

“ Crowther & Jenkins !” exclaimed one morning, Mr. Flint, 
looking up from the “ Times” newspaper he held in his hand. 
“Crowther & Jenkins !— what is it we know about Crowther 
& Jenkins 

The question was addressed to me, and I, like my partner^ 
could not at the moment precisely recall why those names 
sounded upon our ears with a certain degree of interest as well 
as familiarity. “ Crowther & Jenkins !” I echoed. “ True , 
what do we know about Crowther & Jenkins } Oh, I have it ! 
— they are the executors of a will under which young Linden’s 
pretty bride, that is to be, inherits her fortune.” 

“ Ah !” exclaimed Mr. Flint, as he put down the paper, and 
looked me gravely in the face — “ I remember now ; their names 
are in the list of bankrupts. A failure in the gambling corn- 
trade too. I hope they have not been speculating with the 
young woman’s money.” 

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Mr. Linden 
was announced, and presently in walked that gentleman in a 
state of considerable excitement. 

“ I told you,” he began, “ some time ago about Crowther 
& Jenkins being the persons in whose names Catherine Arnold’s 
money stood in the funds 

“ Yes,” replied Flint ; “ and I seg by the ‘ Gazette’ they are 
bankrupts, and, by your face, that they have speculated with 
your intended daughter-in-law’s money, and lost it !” 

“ Positively so !” rejoined Mr. Linden, with great heat 


EVERT MAN H18 OWN LAWYER. 


261 


j} 


“ Drew it out many months ago ! But they have exceedingly 
wealthy connections — at least Crowther has — ^who will, I sup- 
pose, arrange Miss Ai-nold’s claim rather than their relative 
should be arraigned for felony,” 

“ Felony ! — you are mistaken, my good sir. There is no 
felony — no legal felony, I mean — in the matter. Miss Arnold 
can only prove against the estate like any other creditor.” 

“ The devil she can’t ! Tom, then, must look out for an- 
other wife, for I am credibly informed there wont be a shilling 
in the pound.” 

And so it turned out. The great corn-firm had been in- 
solvent for years ; and after speculating desperately, and to a 
frightful extent, with a view to recover themselves, had failed 
to an eiiOrmoiLS amount — their assets, comparatively speaking, 
proving to be nil. 

The ruin spread around, chiefly on account of the vast quantity 
of accommodation-paper they had afloat, was terrible ; but upon 
no one did the blow fall with greater severity than on young 
Linden and his promised wife. His father ordered him to in- 
stantly break off all acquaintance with Miss Arnold ; and on 
the son, who was deeply attached to her, peremptorily refusing 
to do so, Linden, senior, threatened to turn him out of doors, 
and ultimately disinherit him. Angry, indignant, and in love, 
Thomas Linden did a very rash and foolish thing ; he persuaded 
Catherine Arnold to consent to a private marriage, arguing that 
if the indissoluble knot were once fairly tied, his father would, 
as a matter of course — he being an only child — become recon- 
ciled to what he could no longer hope to prevent or remedy. 

The imprudent young man deceived both himself and her who 
trusted in his pleasing plausibilities. Ten minutes after he had 
disclosed the marnage to his father, be was turned, almost 


262 


“every man tfI8 OWN LAWYER. ” 


penniless^ out of doors ; and the exasperated and inexorable 
old man refused to listen to any representation in his favor, by 
whomsoever proffered, and finally, even to permit the mention 
oP his name in his hearing. 

“ It’s of no use,” said Mr. Flint, on returning for the last 
Hrae, from a mission undertaken to extort, if possible, some 
provision against absolute starvation for the newly-wedded 
:()uple. ‘‘ He is as cold and hard as adamant, and I think, if 
possible, even more of a tiger than before. He will be here 
piesently to give instructions for his will.” 

“ His will ! Surely he will draw that up himself after hia 
own common-sense, business fashion 

“ He would unquestionably have done so a short time since ; 
but some events that have lately occurred have considerably 
shaken his estimate of his own infallibility, and he is, more- 
over, determined, he says, that there shall be no mistake as 
to effectually disinheriting his son. He has made two or three 
heavy losses, and his mind is altogether in a very cankered, dis- 
tempered state.” 

Mr. Linden called, as he had promised to do, and gave us the 
written heads of a will which he desired to have at once formally 
drawn up. By this instrument he devised the Holmford estate, 
and all other property, real and personal, of which he might die 
possessed, to certain charitable institutions, in varying propor- 
tions, payable as soon after his death as the property could be 
turned into money. “ The statute of mortmain does not give 
me much uneasiness,” remarked the vindictive old man with a 
bitter smile. “ I shall last some time yet. I would have left * 
it all to you, Flint,” he added, ‘‘ only that I knew you would 
defeat my purpose by giving it back to that disobedient, un- 
grateful, worthless boy.” 


I 


263 


every MA^^ HIS OWN LAWYER.” 

Bo leave it to me,” rejoined Mr. Flint, with grave emphasis, 
“ and I promise you faithfully this — that the wish respecting it, 
whatever it may be, which trembles on your lip as you are about 
to leave this world for another, and when it may be too late to 
formally revoke the testament you now propose, shall be strictly 
carried out. That time cannot be a very distant one, John 
Linden, for a man whose hair is white as yours.” 

It was preaching to the winds. He was deaf, blind, mute, to 
every attempt at changing his resolve. The will was drawn in 
accordance with his peremptorily-iterated instructions, and duly 
signed, sealed, and attested. Not very long afterwards, Mr. 
Linden disposed of his business in Mincing Lane, and retired to 
Holmford, but with nothing like the money-fortune be had once 
calculated upon, the losses alluded to by Mr. Flint, and followed 
by others, having considerably diminished his wealth. 

W e ultimately obtained a respectable and remunerative situa- 
tion for Thomas Linden in a mercantile house at Belfast, with 
which we were professionally acquainted, and after securing 
berths in the Erin steamer, he, with his wife and mother-in- 
law, came, with a kind of hopeful sadness in their looks and 
voices, to bid us farewell — for a very long time, they and we 
also feared — 

For an eternity, it seemed, on reading the account of the loss 
of the Erin^ a few days afterwards, with every soul on board ! 
Their names were published with those of the other passengers 
who had embarked, and we had of course concluded that they 
had perished, when a letter reached us from Belfast, stating 
that, through some delay on the part of Mrs. Arnold, they had 
happily lost their passage in the Erin^ and embarked in the next 
steamer for Belfast, where they arrived in perfect safety. W« 
forwarded this intelligence to Holmford, but it elicited no reply. 


264 


EVERY MAN HIS OWN LAWYER 


(i 


)) 


We heard nothing of Mr. Linden for about two months, ex- 
cept by occasional notices in the “ Hereford Times,” which he 
regularly forwarded to the office, relative to the improvements 
Dn the Holmford estate, either actually begun or contemplated 
by its new proprietor. He very suddenly reappeared. I was 
cooling my heels in the waiting-room of the chambers of the 
Barons of the Exchequer, Chancery Lane, awaiting my turn of 
admission, when one of our clerks came in, half-breathless with 
haste. “You are wanted, sir, immediately ; Mr. Flint is out, 
and Mr. Linden is at the office raving like a mad-man.” I 
instantly transferred the business I was in attendance at 
chambers upon, to the clerk, and with the help of a cab soon 
reached home 

Mr. Linden was not raving when I arrived. The violence 
of the paroxysm of rage and terror by which he was possessed 
had passed away, and he looked, as I entered, the image of pale, 
rigid, iron, dumb despair. He held a letter and a strip of parch- 
ment in his hand ; these he presented, and with white, stammer- 
ing lips, bade me read. The letter was from an attorney of the 
name of Sawbridge, giving notice of an action of ejectment, to 
oust him from the possession of the Holmford estate, the pro- 
perty, according to Mr, Sawbridge, of one Edwin Majoribanks ; 
and the strip of parchment was the writ by which the letter had 
been quickly followed. I was astounded ; and my scared looks 
questioned Mr. Linden for further information 

“ I do not quite understand it,” he said in a hoarse, palpi- 
tating voice. “ No possession or title in the venders ; a niece 
not of age — executors no power to sell — Palliser discovered it, 
robbed me, absconded, and I, oh God ! am a miserable beggar !” 

The last words were uttered with a convulsive scream, and 
•fter a few frightful struggles he fell down in a fit. I had him 


"EVERY MAN HIS OWN LAWYER 


265 


conveyed to bed, and as soon as be was somewhat recovered, I 
Hastened off to ascertain from Sawbridge, whom I knew very in- 
timately, the nature of the claim intended to be set up for the 
plaintiff, Edwin Majoribanks. 

I met Sawbridge just as he was leaving his office, and as he 
was in too great a hurry to turn back, I walked along with him, 
aod he rapidly detailed the chief facts about to be embodied in 
the plaintiff’s declaration. Archibald Dursley, once a London 
merchant, and who died a bachelor, had bequeathed his estate, 
rcAl and personal, to his brother Charles, and a niece, his sister’s 
child — two-thirds to the niece, and one-third to the brother. 
The Holmford property, the will directed, should be sold by 
public auction when the niece came of age, unless she, by 
marriage or otherwise, was enabled, within six months after 
attaining her majority, to pay over to Charles Dursley his third 
in money, according to a valuation made for the purpose by 
competent assessors. The brother, Charles Dursley, had urged 
upon the executors to anticipate the time directed by the will for 
the sale of the property ; and having persuaded the niece to 
give a written authorization for the immediate sale, the execu- 
tors, chiefly, Sawbridge supposed, prompted by their own neces- 
sities, sold the estate accordingly. But the niece not being of 
age when she signed the authority to sell, her consent was of no 
legal value ; and she having since died intestate, Edwin Majori- 
banks, her cousin and undoubted heir-at-law — for the property 
could not have passed from her, even by marriage — now claimed 
the estate. Charles Dursley, the brother, was dead ; “ and,” 
continued Mr. Sawbridge, “ the worst of it is. Linden will never 
get a farthing of his purchase-money from the venders, for they 
are bankrupt, nor from Palliser, who has made permanent ar- 
rangements for continuing abroad, out of harm’s reach. It is 


266 


EVERY MAN HIS OWN LAWYER 


u 


>5 


just as I tell you,” he added, as we shook hands at parting , 
“ but you will of course see the will, and satisfy yourself. 
Good-by.” 

Here was a precious result of amateur common-sense law- 
yership ! Linden could only have examined the abstract of 
title furnished him by Palliser’s attorney, and not the right of 
Dursley’s executors to sell ; or had not been aware that the 
niece could not during her minority, subscribe an effective legal 
consent. 

I found Mr. Flint at the office, and quickly imparted the as- 
tounding news. He was as much taken aback as myself. 

“ The obstinate, pig-headed old ass !” he exclaimed ; “it al- 
most serves him right, if only for his Tom-fool nonsense of 
‘ Every man his own lawyer.’ What did you say was the niece’s 
name .?” 

“ Well, I don’t remember that Sawbridge told me — he was 
in such a hurry ; but suppose you go at once and look over the 
will 

“ True : I will do so and away he went. 

“ This is a veiv singular affair, Sharp,” said Mr. Flint on his 
return from Dockrs’ Commons, at the same time composedly 
seating himself, hooking his thumbs into the arm-holes of his 
waistcoat, crossing his legs, and tilting his chair back on its hind 
legs. “ A very singular affair. Whom, in the name of the 
god of thieves — Mercury, wasn’t he called — do you suppose 
the bankrupt executors to be ? No other,” continued Mr. 
Flint with a sudden burst, “ than Crowther & Jenkins !” 

“ The devil ! — and the niece then is” 

“ Catherine Arnold — Tom Linden’s wife — supposed to have 
been drowned in the Erm ! That’s check-mate, I rather fancy 
• — ^not only to Mr. Edwin Majoribanks, but some one else we 


' *.«'ERY MAN HIS OWN LAWYER 


2b/ 


know of. The old fellow up stairs wont refuse to acknowledge 
his daughter-in-law now, I fancy 

This was indeed a happy change in the fortunes of the House 
of Linden ; and we discussed, with much alacrity, the best 
mode of turning disclosures so momentous and surprising to the 
best account. As a first step, a letter with an inclosure, was 
dispatched to Belfast, requiring the return of Thomas Linden 
and family immediately ; and the next was to plead in form to 
the action. This done, we awaited Catherine Linden’s arrival 
in London, and Mr. Linden senior’s convalescence — for his 
mental agitation had resulted in a sharp fit of illness — to effect 
a satisfactory and just arrangement. 

Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Linden and Mrs. Arnold arrived by 
the earliest steamer that left Belfast after the receipt of our 
letter ; and much astonished were they by the intelligence that 
awaited them. Catherine Linden was for confirming the va- 
lidity of the sale of the Holmford estate by her now authorita- 
tive consent at once, as a mere act of common justice and good 
faith ; but this, looking at the total loss of fortune she had sus- 
tained by the knavery of the executors, and the obstinate, 
mulish temper of the father-in-law, from whom she had already 
received such harsh treatment, could not for a moment be per- 
mitted ; and it was finally resolved to take advantage of the 
legal position in which she stood, to enforce a due present 
provision for herself and husband, and their ultimate succession 
to the estate. 

John Linden gradually recovered ; and as soon as it was 
deemed prudent to do so, we informed him that the niece was 
not dead, as the plaintiff in the action of ejectment had sup- 
posed, and that of course, if she could now be persuaded to 
**atify the imperative consent she had formerly subscribed, ha 


268 


‘every man H16 OWN LAWYER.’^ 


might retain Holmford. At first he received the intelligence aa 
a gleam of light and hope, but he soon relapsed into doubt and 
gloom. “ What chance was there,” he hopelessly argued, 
“ that, holding the legal power, she would not exercise it 
It was not, he said, in human nature to do otherwise ; and he 
commissioned us to make liberal offers for a compromise. Half 
— he would be content to lose half his purchase-money ; even a 
greater sacrifice than that he would agree to — anything, indeed, 
that would not be utter ruin — that did not involve utter beggary 
and destitution in old age. 

Three days after this conversation, I announced to him that 
the ladv and her husband were below and desirous of seeing 
him. 

“ What do they say he eagerly demanded. “ Will they 
accept of half — two-thirds ? What do they say 

“ I cannot precisely tell you. They wish to see you alone, 
and you can urge your own views and offers.”* He trembled 
violently, and shrank nervously back as I placed my hand on 
the door-handle of the private office. He presently recovered 
in some degree his self-possession, passed in, and I withdrew 
from the humiliating, but salutary spectacle, of obdurate tyrant- 
power compelled to humble itself before those whom it had pre- 
viously scorned and trampled upon. 

The legal arrangements which Flint and I had suggested 
were effected, and Linden, senior, accompanied by his son, 
daughter-in-law, and Mrs. Arnold, set off in restored amity for 
Holmford House. Edwin Majoribanks abandoned his action, 
and Palliser, finding that matters were satsfactorily arra.nged, re 
tired to England. We afterwards knew that he had discovered 
the defect of title, on applying to a well-known conveyancer, to 
raise a considerable sum by way of mortgage, and that his first 


EVERT M4.N HIS OWN LAWYER/ 


269 


step was to threaten legal proceedings against Crowther & Jen- 
kins for the recovery of his money ; but a hint he obtained of 
the futility of proceedings against them, determined him to offer 
the estate at a low figure to Linden, relying upon that gentle- 
man’s ostentatious contempt of lawyers that the blo<^ ir the title, 
subjected only to his own common-sense spectacles, would » t 
be perceived. 


IflE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 

I AM about to relate a rather curious piece of domestic history, 
some of the incidents of which, revealed at the time of their 
occui fence in contemporary law reports, may be in the remem- 
brance of many readers. It took place in one of the midland 
counties, and at a place which I shall call Watley ; the names 
of the chief actors who figured in it must also, to spare their 
modesty oi their blushes, as the case may be, be changed ; and 
ihould one of those persons, spite of these precautions, apprf 
hend unpleasant recognition, he will be able to console himself 
with the reflection, that all I state beyond that which may be 
gathered from the records of the law courts will be generally 
ascribed to the fancy or invention of the writer. And it is aci 
well, perhaps, that it should be so. 

Caleb Jennings, a shoemaker, cobler, snob — using the last 
word in its genuine classical sense, and by no means according 
to the modern interpretation by which it is held to signify a 
genteel sneak or pretender — he was anything but that — occu- 
pied, some twelve or thirteen years ago, a stall at Watley, 
which, according to the traditions of the place, had been he- 
reditary in his family for several generations. He may also be 
said to have flourished there, after the manner of cobblers ; for 
this, it must be remembered, was in the good old times, before 
the gutta-percha revolution had carried ruin and dismay into 
the stalls — those of cobblers — which in considerable numberti 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


271 


existed throughout the kingdom. Like all his fraternity whom 
I have ever fallen in with or heard of, Caleb was a sturdy radi- 
cal of the Major Cartwright and Henry Hunt school ; and be- 
ing withal industrious, tolerably skillful, not inordinately prone 
to the observance of Saint Mondays, possessed, moreover, of a 
neatly-furnished sleeping and eating apartment in the house of 
which the projecting first fioor, supported on stone pillars, over- 
shadowed his humble work-place, he vaunted himself to be as 
really rich as an estated squire, and far more independent. 

There was some truth in this boast, as the case which pro- 
cured us the honor of Mr. J ennings’s acquaintance sufficiently 
proved. We were employed to bring an action against a 
wealthy gentleman of the vicinity of Watley for a brutal and 
unprovoked assault he had committed, when in a state of par- 
tial inebriety, upon a respectable London tradesman who had 
visited the place on business. On the day of trial our witnesses 
appeared to have become suddenly afflicted with an almost total 
loss of memory ; and we were only saved from an adverse ver- 
dict by the plain, straight-forward evidence of Caleb, upon 
whose sturdy nature the various arts which soften or neutral- 
ize hostile evidence had been tried in vain. Mr. Flint, who 
personally superintended the case, took quite a liking to the 
man ; and it thus happened that we were called upon sometime 
afterwards to aid the said Caleb in extricating himself from the 
extraordinary and perplexing difficulty in which he suddenly and 
unwittingly found himself involved. 

The projecting first fioor of the house beneath which th 
humble work-shop of Caleb Jennings modestly disclosed itself, 
had been occupied for many years by an ailing and somewhat 
aged gentleman of the name of Lisle. This Mr. Ambrose 
Lisle was a native of Watley, ani had been a prosperous mer- 
18 


272 


THE CHEST OP DRAWERS. 


chant of the city of London. Since his return, after about 
twenty years’ absence, he had shut himself up in almost total 
seclusion, nourishing a cynical bitterness and acrimony of tem- 
per which gradually withered up the sources of health and life, 
till at length it became as visible to himself as it had for some- 
time been to others, that the oil of existence was expended, 
burnt up, and that but a few weak flickers more, and the ail- 
ing man’s plaints and griefs would be hushed in the dark si- 
lence of the grave. 

Mr. Lisle had no relatives at Watley, and the only individual 
with whom he was on terms of personal intimacy, was Mr. Pe- 
ter Sowerby, an attorney of the place, who had for many years 
transacted all his business. This man visited Mr. Lisle most 
evenings, played at chess with him, and gradually acquired an 
influence over his client which that weak gentleman had once 
or twice feebly, but vainly endeavored to shake off. To this 
clever attorney, it was rumored, Mr. Lisle had bequeathed all 
his wealth. 

This piece of information had been put in circulation by 
Caleb Jennings, who was a sort of humble favorite of Mr. 
Lisle’s, or, at all events, was regarded by the misanthrope with 
less dislike than he manifested towards others. Caleb culti- 
vated a few flowers in a little plot of ground at the back of the 
house, and Mr. Lisle would sometimes accept a rose or a bunch 
of violets from him. Other slight services — especially since the 
recent death of his old and garrulous woman-servant, Esther 
May, who had accompanied him from London, and with whom 
Mr. Jennings had always been upon terms of gossiping inti- 
macy — had led to certain familiarities of intercourse ; and it 
thus happened that the inquisitive shoemaker became partially 
cquainted with the history of the wrongs and griefs which 


THE CHESi' or DRAWERS. 


273 


preyed upon, and shortened the life of the prematurely-aged 
man. 

The substance of this every-day, common-place story, as re- 
lated to us by Jennings, and subsequently enlarged and colored 
from other sources, may be very briefly told. 

Ambrose Lisle, in consequence of an accident which occurred 
in his infancy, was slightly deformed. His right shoulder — as I 
understood, for I never saw him — grew out, giving an ungrace- 
ful and somewhat comical twist to his figure, which, in female 
eyes — youthful ones at least — sadly marred the efiect of his in- 
telligent and handsome countenance. This personal defect ren- 
dered him shy and awkward in the presence of women of his 
own class of society ; and he had attained the ripe age of thir- 
ty-seven years, and was a rich and prosperous man, before he 
gave the slightest token of an inclination towards matrimony. 
About a twelvemonth previous to that period of his life, the 
deaths — quickly following each other — of a Mr. and Mrs. Ste- 
vens, threw their eldest daughter, Lucy, upon Mr. Lisle’s 
hands. Mr. Lisle had been left an orphan at a very early 
age, and Mrs. Stevens — his aunt, and then a maiden lady — 
had, in accordance with his father’s will, taken charge of him- 
self and brother till they severally attained their majority. 
Long, however, before that, she married Mr. Stevens, by whom 
she had two children — Lucy and Emily. Her husband, whom 
she survived but two months, died insolvent ; and in obedience 
to the dying wishes of his aunt, for whom he appears to have 
felt the tenderest esteem, he took the eldest of her orphan 
children to his home, intending to regard and provide for her 
as his own adopted child and heiress. Emily, the other sister, 
found refuge in the house of a still more distant relative than 
himself. 


274 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


The Stevenses had gone to live in a remote part of England 
— Yorkshire, I believe — and it thus fell out, that, till his cousin 
Lucy arrived at her new home, he had not seen her for more 
than ten years. The pale, and somewhat plain child, as he had 
esteemed her, he was startled to find had become a charming 
woman ; and her naturally gay and joyous temperament, quick 
talents, and fresh young beauty, rapidly acquired an overwhelm- 
ing influence over him. Strenuously, but vainly, he struggled 
against the growing infatuation — argued, reasoned with himself 
— passed in review the insurmountable objections to such a 
union, the difference of age — he, leading towards thirty-seven, 
she, barely twenty-one : he, crooked, deformed, of reserved, 
taciturn temper — she, full of young life, and grace, and beauty. 
It was useless ; and nearly a year had passed in the bootless 
struggle, when Lucy Stevens, who had vainly striven to blind 
herself to the nature of the emotions by which her cousin and 
guardian was animated towards her, intimated a wish to accept 
her sister Emily’s invitation to pass two or three months with 
her. This brought the affair to a crisis. Buoying himself up 
with the illusions which people in such an unreasonable frame 
of mind create for themselves, he suddenly entered the sitting- 
room set apart for her priva».e use, with the desperate purpose 
of making his beautiful cousin a formal offer of his hand. She 
was not' in the apartment, but her opened writing-desk, and a 
partly-finished letter lying on it, showed that she had been re- 
cently there, and would probably soon return. Mr. Lisle took 
two or three agitated turns about the room, one of which 
brought him close to the writing-desk, and his glance involun- 
tarily fell upon the unfinished letter. Had a deadly serpent 
leaped suddenly at his throat, the shock could not have been 
greater. At the head of the sheet of paper was a clever pen- 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


275 


and-ink sketch of Lucy Stevens and himself — he, kneeling to 
ner in a lovelorn, ludicrous attitude, and she, laughing immoder- 
ately at his lachrymose and pitiful aspect and speech. The 
letter was addressed to her sister Emily ; and the enraged lover 
saw not only that his supposed secret was fully known, but that 
he himself was mocked, laughed at, for his doting folly. At 
least this was his interpretation of the words which swam before 
his eyes. At the instant Lucy returned, and a torrent of im- 
precation burst from the furious man, in which wounded self- 
love, rageful pride, and long pent-up passion, found utterance 
in wild and bitter words. Half an hour afterwards Lucy Ste- 
vens had left the merchant’s house — for ever, as it proved. 
She, indeed, on arriving at her sister’s, sent a letter, suppli- 
cating forgiveness for the thoughtless, and, as he deemed it, 
insulting sketch, intended only for Emily’s eye ; but he replied 
merely by a note written by one of his clerks, informing Miss 
Stevens that Mr. Lisle declined any further correspondenca 
with her. 

The ire of the angered and vindictive man had, however, 
begun sensibly to abate, and old thoughts, memories, duties, 
suggested partly by the blank which Lucy’s absence made in 
his house, partly by remembrance of the solemn promise he 
had made her mother, were strongly reviving in his mind, when 
he read the announcement of marriage in a provincial journal, 
directed to him, as he believed, in the bride’s hand-writing; 
but this was an error, her sister having sent the newspaper. 
Mr. Lisle also construed this into a deliberate mockery and in- 
sult, and from that hour strove to banish all images and thoughts 
connected with his cousin, from his heart and memory. 

He unfortunately adopted the very worst course possible for 
effecting this object. Had he remained amid the buzz and to- 


276 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


mult of active life, a mere sentimental disappointment, such as 
thousands of us have sustained and afterwards forgotten, would, 
there can be little doubt, have soon ceased to afflict him. He 
chose to retire from business, visited Watley, and habits of miser- 
liness growing rapidly upon his cankered mind, never after- 
wards removed from the lodgings he had hired on first arriving 
there. Thus madly hugging to himself sharp-pointed tiieino- 
ries, which a sensible man would have speedily cast off and for- 
gotten, the sour misanthrope passed a useless, cheerless, weary 
existence, to which death must have been a welcome relief. 

Matters were in this state with the morose and aged man — 
aged mentally and corporeally, although his years were but 
fifty-eight — when Mr. Flint made Mr. J ennings’s acquaintance. 
Another month or so had passed away when Caleb’s attention 
was one day about noon claimed by a young man dressed in 
mourning, accompanied by a female similarly attired, and from 
their resemblance to each other he conjectured were brother 
and sister. The stranger wished to know if that was the house 
in which Mr. Ambrose Lisle resided. Jennings said it was ; and 
with civil alacrity left his stall and rang the front-door bell. 
The summons was answered by the landlady’s servant, who, 
since Esther May’s death, had waited on the first-floor lodger ; 
and the visitors were invited to go up stairs. Caleb, much won- 
dering who they might be, returned to his stall, and from 
thence passed into his eating and sleeping-room just below Mr. 
Lisle’s apartments. He was in the act of taking a pipe from 
the mantel-shelf, in order to the more deliberate and satis- 
factory cogitation on such an unusual event, when he was 
startled by a loud shout, or scream rather, from above. The 
quivering and excited voice was that of Mr. Lisle, and the out- 
ery was immediately followed by an explosion of unintelligible 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 277 

exolaraatioDS from several persons. Caleb was up stairs in an 
instant, and found himself in the midst of a strangely-perplex- 
ing and distracted scene. Mr. Lisle, pale as his shirt, shaking 
in every limb, and his eyes on fire with passion, was hurling 
forth a torrent of vituperation and reproach at the young 
woman, whom he evidently mistook for some one else ; whilst 
she, extremely terrified, and unable to stand but for the assist- 
ance of her companion, was tendering a letter in her out- 
stretched hand, and uttering broken sentences, which her own 
agitation and the fury of Mr. Lisle’s invecti-^es rendered totally 
incomprehensible. At last the fierce old man struck the letter 
from her hand, and with frantic rage ordered both the strangers 
to leave the room. Caleb urged them to comply, and accom- 
panied them down stairs. When they reached the street, he 
observed a woman on the other side of the way, dressed in 
mourning, and much older apparently, though he could not well 
see her face through the thick veil she wore, than she who had 
thrown Mr. Lisle into such an agony of rage, apparently waiting 
for them. To her the young people immediately hastened, and 
after a brief conference the three turned away up the street, 
and Mr. Jennings saw no more of them. 

A quarter of an hour afterwards the house-servant informed 
Caleb that Mr. Lisle had retired to bed, and although still in 
great agitation, and, as she feared, seriously indisposed, would 
not permit Dr. Clarke to be sent for. So sudden and violent a 
hurricane in the usually dull and drowsy atmosphere in which 
J ennings lived, excited and disturbed him greatly ; the hours, 
however, flew past without bringing any relief to his curiosity, 
and evening was falling, when a peculiar knocking on the floor 
over-head announced that Mr. Lisle desired his presence. That 
gentleman was sitting up in bed, and in the growing darknestr 


278 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


his face could not be very distinctly seen ; but Caleb instantly 
observed a vivid and unusual light in the old man’s eyes. The 
letter so strangely delivered was lying open before him ; and 
unless the shoe-mender was greatly mistaken, there were stains 
of recent tears upon Mr, Lisle’s furrowed and hollow cheeks. 
The voice, too, it struck Caleb, though eager, was gentle and 
wavering. “ It was a mistake, Jennings,” he said ; “ I was 
mad for the moment. Are they gone he added in a yet 
more subdued and gentle tone. Caleb informed him of what 
he had seen ; and as he did so, the strange light in the old 
man’s eyes seemed to quiver and sparkle with a yet intenser 
emotion than before. Presently he shaded them with his hand, 
and remained several minutes silent. He then said with a 
firmer voice, “ I shall be glad if you will step to Mr. Sowerby, 
and tell him I am too unwell to see him this evening. But be 
sure to say nathing else,” he eagerly added, as Caleb turned 
away in compliance with his request ; “ and when you come 
back, let me see you again.” 

When Jennings returned, he found to his great surprise 
Mr. Lisle up and nearly dressed ; and his astonishment in 
creased a hundred-fold upon hearing that gentleman say, in a 
quick but perfectly collected and decided manner, that he 
should set off* for London by the mail-train. 

“ For London — and by night !” exclaimed Caleb, scarcely 
sure that he heard aright. 

“ Yes — yes ! I shall not be observed in the dark,” sharply 
rejoined Mr. Lisle ; “ and you, Caleb, must keep my secret 
from every body, especially from Sowerby. I shall be here in 
time to see him to-morrow night, and he will be none the 
wiser.” This was said with a slight chuckle ; and as soon 
JB his simple preparations were complete, Mr. Lisle, well 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


279 


wrapped up, and his face almost hidden by shawls, locked his 
door, and assisted by J ennings, stole furtively down stairs, and 
reached unrecognized the railway station just in time for the 
train. 

It was quite dark the next evening when Mr. Lisle returned ; 
and so well had he managed, that Mr. Sowerby, who paid his 
usual visit about half an hour afterwards, had evidently heard 
nothing of the suspicious absence of his esteemed client from 
Watley. The old man exulted over the success of his decep- 
tion to Caleb, the next morning, but dropped no hint as to the 
object of his sudden journey. 

Three days passed without the occurrence of any incident 
tending to the enlightenment of Mr. J ennings upon these mys- 
terious events, which, however, he plainly saw had lamentably 
shaken the long-since failing man. On the afternoon of the 
fourth day, Mr. Lisle walked, or rather tottered, into Caleb’s 
stall, and seated himself on the only vacant stool it contained. 
His manner was confused, and frequently purposeless, and there 
was an anxious, flurried expression in his face, which Jennings 
did not at all like. He remained silent for some time, with the 
exception of partially inaudible snatches of comment or ques- 
tionings, apparently addressed to himself At last he said, “ I 
shall take a longer journey to-morrow, Caleb — much longer ; 
let me see — where did I say .? Ah, yes ! to Glasgow ; to be 
sure to Glasgow !” 

“To Glasgow, and to-morrow!” exclaimed the astounded 
cobbler. 

“ No,, no — not Glasgow ; they have removed,” feebly re- 
joined Mr. Lisle. “ But Lucy has written it down for me. 
True— true ; and to-morrow I shall set out.” 

The strange expression of Mr. Lisle’s face became moment- 


280 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


arily more strongly marked, and Jennings, greatly alarmed, 
said, “ You are ill, Mr. Lisle ; let me run for Dr. Clarke.” 

“ No — no,” he murmured, at the same time striving to rise 
from his seat, which he could only accomplish by Caleb’s assist- 
ance, and so supported, he staggered indoors. ‘‘ I shall be 
better to-morrow,” he said faintly, and then slowly added, 
“ To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow ! Ah, me ! Yes, 

as I said, to-morrow, I” He paused abruptly, and they 

gained his apartment. He seated himself, and then Jennings, 
at his mute solicitation, assisted him to bed. 

H« lay some time with his eyes closed ; and Caleb could feel 
— for Mr. Lisle held him firmly by the hand, as if to prevent 
his going away — a convulsive shudder pass over his frame. At 
last he slowly opened his eyes, and Caleb saw that he was in- 
deed about to depart upon the long journey from which there 
is no return. The, lips of the dying man worked inarticulately 
for some moments ; and then with a mighty effort, as it seemed, 
he said, whilst his trembling hand pointed feebly to a bureau 
chest of drawers that stood in the room, “ There — there, for 

Lucy ; there, the secret place is” Some inaudible words 

followed, and then after a still mightier struggle than before, he 
gasped out, “No word--no word — to — to Sowerby — for her — 
Lucy.” 

More was said, but undistinguishable by mortal ear ; and 
after gazing with an expression of indescribable anxiety in the 
scared face of his awe-struck listener, the wearied eyes slowly 
reclosed — the deep silence flowed past ; then the convulsive 
shudder came again, and he was dead ! 

Caleb Jennings tremblingly summoned the house-servant and 
the landlady, and was still confusedly pondering the broken sen- 
tences uttered by the dying man, when Mr. Sowerby hurriedly 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


281 


arrived The attorney’s first care was to assume the direction 
of aflfairs, and to place seals upon every article containing or 
likely to contain anything of value belonging to the deceased. 
This done, he went away to give directions for the funeral, 
which took place a few days afterwards ; and it was then form- 
ally announced that Mr. Sowerby succeeded by will to the large 
property of Ambrose Lisle ; under trust, however, for the 
family, if any, of Robert Lisle, the deceased’s brother, who had 
gone when very young to India, and had not been heard of for 
many years — a condition which did not at all mar the joy of the 
crafty lawyer, he having long since instituted private inquiries, 
which perfectly satisfied him, that the said Robert Lisle had 
died, unmarried, at Calcutta. 

Mr. J ennings was in a state of great dubiety and consterna- 
tion. Sowerby had emptied the chest of drawers of every 
valuable it contained ; and unless he had missed the secret 
receptacle Mr. Lisle had spoken of, the deceased’s intentions, 
whatever they might have been, were clearly defeated. And 
if he had not discovered it, how could he, Jennings, get at the 
drawers to examine them } A fortunate chance brought some 
relief to his perplexities. Ambrose Lisle’s furniture was adver-^ 
tised to be sold by auction, and Caleb resolved to purchase the 
bureau chest of drawers at almost any price, although to do so 
would oblige him to break into his rent-money, then nearly due. 
The day of sale came, and the important lot in its turn was put 
up. In one of the drawers there were a number of loose news- 
papers, and other valueless scraps ; and Caleb, with a sly grin, 
asked the auctioneer, if he sold the article with all its contents. 
“ Oh, yes,” said Sowerby, who was watching the sale ; “ the 
buyer may have all it contains over his bargain, and much good 
may it do him,” A laugh followed the attorney’s sneering re- 


282 


THE CHEST DF DRAWERS. 


mark, and the biddings went on. “I want it,” observed Caleb 
“ because it just fits a recess like this one in my room under- 
neath.” This he said to quiet a suspicion he thought he saw 
gathering upon the attorney’s brow. It was finally knocked 
down to Caleb at 10s., a sum considerably beyond its real 
value ; and he had to borrow a sovereign in order to clear his 
speculative purchase. This done, he carried ofi* his prize, and 
as soon as the closing of the house for the night secured him 
from interruption, he set eagerly to work in search of the secret 
drawer. A long and patient examination was richly rewarded. 
Behind one of the small drawers of the sttritaire portion of the 
piece of fiirniture was another small one, curiously concealed, 
which contained Bank-of-England notes to the amount of i02OO, 
tied up with a letter, upon the back of which was written, in 
the deceased’s hand-writing, “ To take with me.” The letter 
which Caleb, although he read print with facility, had much dif- 
ficulty in making out, was that which Mr. Lisle had struck from 
the young woman’s hand a few weeks before, and proved to be 
a very affecting appeal from Lucy Stevens, now Lucy Warner, 
and a widow, with two grown-up children. Her husband had 
died in insolvent circumstances, and she and her sister Emily, 
^ho was still single, were endeavoring to carry on a school at 
Bristol, which promised to be sufficiently prosperous if the sum 
of about .£150 could be raised, to save the furniture from her 
deceased husband’s creditors. The claim was pressing, for Mr. 
Warner had been dead nearly a year, and Mr. Lisle being the 
only relative Mrs. Warner had in the world, she had ventured 
to entreat his assistance for her mother’s sake. There could be 
no moral doubt, therefore, that this money was intended for 
Mrs. Warner’s relief ; and early in the morning Mr. Caleb Jen- 
nings dressed himself in his Sunday’s suit, and with a brief 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


283 


announcement to his landlady that he was about to leave 
Watley for a day or two, on a visit to a friend, set off for the 
railway station. He had not proceeded far when a difficulty 
struck him — the bank-notes were all twenties ; and were he to 
change a twenty-pound note at the station, where he was well 
known, great would be the tattie and wonderment, if nothing 
worse, that would ensue. So Caleb tried his credit again, 
borrowed sufficient for his journey to London, and there changed 
one of the notes. 

He soon reached Bristol, and blessed was the relief which the 
sum of money he brought afforded Mrs. Warner. She ex- 
pressed much sorrow for the death of Mr. Lisle, and great 
gratitude to Caleb. The worthy man accepted with some 
reluctance one of the notes, or at least as much as remained of 
that which he had changed ; and after exchanging promises 
with the widow and her relatives to keep the matter secret, 
departed homewards. The young woman, Mrs. Warner’s 
daughter, who had brought the letter to Watley, was, Caleb 
noticed, the very image of her mother, or, rather, of what her 
mother must have been when young. This remarkable resem- 
blance it was, no doubt, which had for the moment so con- 
founded and agitated Mr. Lisle. 

Nothing occurred for about a fortnight after Caleb’s return to 
disquiet him, and he had begun to feel tolerably sure that his 
discovery of the notes would remain unsuspected, when, one 
afternoon, the sudden and impetuous entrance of Mr. Sowerby 
into his stall caused him to jump up from his seat with surprise 
and alarm. The attorney’s face was deathly white, his eyes 
glared like a wild beast’s, and his whole appearance exhibited 
uncontrollable agitation. ‘‘A word with you, Mr. Jennings,” 
be gasped — “ a word in private, and at once !” Caleb, in 


284 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


scarcely less consternation than his visitor, led the way into his 
inner room, and closed the door. 

“ Restore — give back,” screamed the attorney, vainly strug- 
gling to dissemble the agitation which convulsed him — “ that — 
that which you have purloined from the chest of drawers !” 

The hot blood rushed to Caleb’s face and temples ; the wild 
vehemence and suddenness of the demand confounded him ; and 
certain previous dim suspicions that the law might not only pro- 
nounce what he had done illegal, but possibly felonious, returned 
upon him with terrible force, and he quite lost his presence of 
mind. 

“ I can’t — I can’t,” he stammered. “ It’s gone — given 
away” 

“ Gone !” shouted, or, more correctly, howled — Sowerby, at 
the same time flying at Caleb’s throat as if he would throttle 
him. “ Gone — given away ! You lie — ^you want to drive a 
bargain with me — dog ! — liar ! — rascal ! — thief!” 

This was a species of attack which Jennings was at no loss 
how to meet. He shook the attorney roughly off, and hurled 
him, in the midst of his vituperation, to the further end of the 
room. 

They then stood glaring at each other in silence, till the 
attorney, mastering himself as well as he could, essayed another 
and more rational mode of attaining his purpose : — 

“ Come, come, Jennings,” he said, “ don’t be a fool. Let 
us understand each other. I have just discovered a paper, a 
memorandum of what you have found in the drawers, and to 
obtain which you bought them. I don’t care for the money — 
keep it ; only give me the papers — documents.” 

‘‘Papers — documents!” ejaculated Caleb, in unfeigned sur- 
prise. 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


285 


“ Yes — ^yes ; of use to me only. You, I remember, cannot 
read writing ; but they are of great consequence to me — to me 
only, I tell you.” 

“ You can’t mean Mrs. Warner’s letter 

“ No — no ; curse the letter ! You are playing with a tiger ! 
Keep the money, I tell you ; but give up the papers — docu- 
ments — or I’ll transport you !” shouted Sowerby with reviving 
lury. 

Caleb, thoroughly bewildered, could only mechanically ejacu- 
late that he had no papers or documents. 

The rage of the attorney when he found he could extract 
nothing from Jennings was frightful. He literally foamed 
with passion, uttered the wildest threats ; and then suddenly 
changing his key, offered the astounded cobbler one — two — three 
thousand pounds — any sum he chose to name, for the papers 
— documents ! This scene of alternate violence and cajolery 
lasted nearly an hour ; and then Sowerby rushed from the house 
as if pursued by the furies, and leaving his auditor in a state of 
thorough bewilderment and dismay. It occurred to Caleb, as 
soon as his mind had settled into something like order, that 
there might be another secret drawer ; and the recollection of 
Mr. Lisle’s journey to London recurred suggestively to him. 
Another long and eager search, however, proved fruitless ; and 
the suspicion was given up, or, more correctly, weakened. 

As soon as it was light the next morning, Mr. Sowerby was 
again with him. He was more guarded now, and was at length 
convinced that Jennings had no paper or document to give up. 
‘‘ It was only some important memoranda,” observed the attor- 
ney carelessly, “ that would save me a world of trouble in a 
lawsuit I shall have to bring againt some heavy debtors to Mr. 
Lisle’s estate ; but I must do as well as I can without them. 


286 


THE CHE8T DRAWERS. 


G^ood morning.” Just as he reached the door a sudden thought 
appeared to strike him. He stopped and said, By the way, 
Jennings, in the hurry of business I forgot that Mr. Lisle had 
told me the chest of drawers you bought, and a few other arti- 
cles, were family relics which he wished to be given to certain 
parties he named. The other things I have got ; and you, I 
suppose, will let me have the drawers for — say a pound profit on 
your bargain 

Caleb was not the acutest man in the world ; but this sudden 
proposition, carelessly as it was made, suggested curious thoughts. 
‘‘ No,” he answered ; “ I shall not part with it. I shall keep 
it as a memorial of Mr. Lisle.” 

Sowerby’s face assumed as Caleb spoke, a ferocious expres- 
sion. “ Shall you .?” said he. “ Then, be sure, my fine fellow, 
that you shall also have something to remember me by as long 
as you live.” 

He then went away, and a few days afterwards Caleb was 
served with a writ for the recovery of the two hundred pounds. 

The afiair made a great noise in the place ; and Caleb’s 
conduct being very generally approved, a subscription was 
set on foot to defray the cost of defending the action — one 
Hayling, a rival attorney to Sowerby, having asserted that 
the words used by the proprietor of the chest of drawers at the 
sale barred his claim to the money found in them. This wise 
gentleman was intrusted with the defence ; and strange to say, 
the jury — a common one — spite of the direction of the judge 
returned a verdict for the defendant, upon the ground tha 
Sowerby’s jocular or sneering remark amounted to a serious, 
valid leave and license to sell two hundred pounds for five 
poimds ten shillings ! 

Sowerby obtained, as a matter of course, a rule for a new 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


287 


trial; and a fresh .ictiDn was brought. All at once Hayling 
refused to go on, alleging deficiency of funds. He told Jen- 
nings that in his opinion it would be better that he should give 
in to Sowerby’s whim, who only wanted the drawers in order to 
comply with the testator’s wishes. “ Besides,” remarked Hay- 
ling in conclusion, “ he is sure to get the article, you know, when 
it comes to be sold under a writ of Ji A few days aftei 

this conversation it was ascertained that Hayling was to succeed 
to Sowerby’s business, the latter gentleman being about to re- 
tire upon the fortune bequeathed him by Mr. Lisle. 

At last Caleb, driven nearly out of his senses, though still 
doggedly obstinate, by the harassing perplexities in which he 
found himself, thought of applying to us. 

“ A very curious affair, upon my word,” remarked Mr. Flint, 
as soon as Caleb had unburdened himself of the story of his 
woes and cares ; “ and in my opinion by no means explainable 
by Sowerby’s anxiety to fulfill the testator’s wishes. He cannot 
expect to get two hundred pence out of you; and Mrs. War- 
ner, you say, is equally unable to pay. Very odd indeed. 
Perhaps if we could get time, something might turn up.” 

With this view Flint looked over the papers Caleb had 
brought, and found the declaration was in trover — a mani- 
fest error — the notes never admittedly having been in Sow- 
erby’s actual possession. We accordingly demurred to the 
form of action, and the proceedings were set aside. This, 
however, proved of no ultimate benefit. Sowerby persevered, 
and a fresh action was instituted against the unhappy shoe- 
mender. So uttterly overcrowed and disconsolate was poor 
Caleb, that he determined to give up the drawers which was 
all Sowerby even now required, and so wash his hands of the 
unfortunate business. Previous, however, to this being done, 
19 


288 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


it was determined that another thorough and scientific examina- 
tion of the mysterious piece of furniture should be made ; and 
for this purpose Mr. Flint obtained a workman skilled in the 
mysteries of secret contrivances, from the desk and dressing- 
case establishment in King Street, Holborn, and proceeded with 
him to Watley. 

The man performed his task with great care and skill ; every 
depth and width was guaged and measured, in order to ascer- 
tain if there were any false bottoms or backs ; and the work- 
man finally pronounced that there was no concealed receptacle 
in the article. 

“ I am sure there is,” persisted Flint, whom disappointment 
as usual rendered but the more obstinate ; and so is Sowerby : 
and he knows too, that it is so cunningly contrived as to be un- 
discoverable, except by a person in the secret, which he no 
doubt at first imagined Caleb to be. I’ll tell you what we’ll 
do — You have the necessary tools with you. Split the con- 
founded chest of drawers into shreds — I’ll be answerable for the 
consequences.” 

This was done carefully and methodically, but for some time 
without result. At length the large drawer next the floor had 
to be knocked to pieces ; ind as it fell apart, one section of 
the bottom, which, like all the others, was divided into two 
compartments, dropped asunder, and discovered a parchment 
laid flat between the two thin leaves, which, when pressed to- 
gether in the grooves of the drawer, presented precisely the 
same appearance as the rest. Flint snatched up the parch- 
ment, and his eager eye had scarcely rested an instant on the 
writing, when a shout of triumph burst from him. It was the 
last will and testament of Ambrose Lisle, dated August 21, 
IS'^8 — the day of his last hurried visit to London It revoked 


tut CHEST OF DRAWERS. 


^89 


the former will, and bequeathed the whole of his property, in 
equal portions, to his cousins Lucy Warner and Emily Ste- 
vens, with succession to their children ; but with reservation 
of one-half to his brother Robert or children, should he be 
alive, or have left offspring. 

Great, it may be supposed was the jubilation of Caleb Jen- 
nings at this discovery ; and all Watley, by his agency, was in 
a marvelously short space of time in a very similar state of 
excitement. It was very late that night when he reached his 
bed ; and how he got there at all, and what precisely had hap- 
pened, except, indeed, that he had somewhere picked up a split- 
ting headache, was, for some time after he awoke the next 
morning, very confusedly remembered. « 

Mr. Flint, by reflection, was by no means so exultant as the 
worthy shoe-mender. The odd mode of packing away a deed 
of such importance, with no assignable motive for doing so, ex- 
cept the needless awe with which Sowerby was said to have 
inspired his feeble-spirited client, together with what Caleb had 
said of the shattered state of the deceased’s mind after the in- 
terview with Mrs. Warner’s daughter, suggested fears that Sow- 
erby might dispute, and perhaps successfully, the validity of this 
last will. My excellent partner, however, determined, as was 
his wont, to put a bold face on the matter ; and flrst clearly 
settling in his own mind what he should and what he should not 
say, waited upon Mr. Sowerby. The news had preceded him, 
and he was at once surprised and delighted to find that the 
nervous crest-fallen attorney was quite unaware of the advan- 
tages of his position. On condition of not being called to ac- 
count for the moneys he had received and expended, about 
£1200, he destroyed the former will in Mr. Flint’s presence, 
and gave up, at once, all the deceased’s papers. From these 


290 


THE CHEST OF DRAWERS 


we learned that Mr. Lisle had written a letter to Mrs. Warner, 
stating what he had done, and where the will would be found, 
and that only herself and Jennings would know the secret. 
From infirmity of purpose, or from having subsequently deter- 
mined on a personal interview, the letter was not posted ; and 
Sowerby subsequently discovered it, together with a memoran- 
dum of the numbers of the bank-notes found by Caleb in the 
secret drawer — the eccentric gentleman appears to have had 
quite a mania for such hiding-places — of a writing-desk. 

The affair was thus happily terminated ; Mrs. Warner, her 
children, and sister, were enriched, and Caleb J ennings was set 
up in a good way of business in his native place, where he still 
flourishes. • Over the centre of his shop there is a large non- 
descript sign, surmounted by a golden boot, which upon a close 
inspection is found to bear a resemblance to a huge bureau chest 
of drawers, all the circurastaauttS connected with which may be 
heard, for the asking, and in much fuller detail than I have 
given, from the lips of the owner of the establishment, by any 
lady or gentleman who will take the trouble of a journey to 
Watley for that purpose. 


THE PUZZLE. 


Tempus fugit ! The space of but a few brief yesterdays 
seems to have passed since the occurrence of the following out- 
of-the-way incidents — out-of-the-way, even in our profession, 
fertile as it is in startling experiences ; and yet the faithful and 
unerring tell-tale and monitor, Anno Domini 1851, instructs me 
that a quarter of a century has nearly slipped by since the first 
scene in the complicated play of circumstances opened upon 
me. The date I remember well, for the Tower-guns had been 
proclaiming with their thunder-throats the victory of Navarino 
but a short time before a clerk announced, ‘‘ William Martin, 
with a message from Major Stewart.” 

This William Martin was a rather sorry curiosity in his way. 
He was now in the service of our old client. Major Stewart ; and 
a tall, good-looking fellow enough, spite of a very decided cast 
in his eyes, which the rascal, when in his cups — no unusual 
occurrence — declared he had caught from his former masters — 
Edward Thorneycroft, Esq., an enormously rich and exceed- 
ingly yellow East India director, and his son, Mr. Henry 
Thorneycroft, with whom, until lately transferred to Major 
Stewart’s service, he had lived from infancy — his mother and 
father having formed part of the elder Thorneycroft’s establish- 
ment when he was born. He had a notion in his head that he 
had better blood in his veins than the world supposed, and was 
excessively fond of aping the gentleman ; and this he did, I 


292 


THE PUZZLE. 


must say, with the ease and assurance of a stage-player. His 
name was scarcely out of the clerk’s lips when he entered the 
inner office with a great effort at steadiness and deliberation, 
closed the door very carefully and importantly, hung his hat 
with much precision on a brass peg, and then steadying himself 
by the door-handle, surveyed the situation and myself with 
staring lack-lustre eyes and infinite gravity. I saw what was 
the matter. 

“ You have been in the ‘ Sun,’ Mr. Martin 
A wink, inexpressible by words, replied to me, and I could 
see by the motion of the fellow’s lips that speech was at- 
tempted ; but it came so thick that it was several minutes 
before I made out that he meant to say the British had been 
knocking the Turks about like bricks, and that he had been 
patriotically drinking the healths of the said British or bricks. 

“ Have the goodness, sir, to deliver your message, and then 
instantly leave the office.” 

“ Old Tho-o-o-rney,” was the hiccoughed reply, “ has 
smoked the — the plot. Young Thorney’s done for. Ma-a-aried 
in a false name ; tra-ansportation — ^of course.” 

“ What gibberish is this about old Thorney and young 
Thorney ? Do you not come from Major Stewart .^” 

“ Ye-e-es, that’s right ; the route’s arrived for the old 
trump ; wishes to — to see you ” 

“ Major Stewart dying ! Why, you are a more disgraceful 
scamp than I believed you to be. Send this fellow away,” I 
added to a clerk who answered my summons. I then hastened 
off, and was speedily rattling over the stones towards Baker 
Street, Portman Square, where Major Stewart resided. As I 
left the office I heard Martin beg the clerk to lead him to the 
pump previous to sending him off — no doubt for the purpose of 


THE PUZZLE. 


293 


sobering himself somewhat previous to reappearing before the 
major, whose motives for hiring or retaining such a fellow in his 
modest establishment I could not understand. 

“ You were expected more than an hour ago,” said Dr. 
Hampton, who was just leaving the house. “ The major is 
now, I fear, incapable of business.” 

There was no time for explanation, and I hastily entered the 
sick-chamber. Major Stewart, though rapidly sinking, recog- 
nized me ; and in obedience to a gesture from her master the 
aged, weeping house-keeper left the room. The major’s daugh- 
ter, Kosamond Stewart, had been absent with her aunt, her 
father’s maiden sister, on a visit, I understood, to some friends 
in Scotland, and had not, I concluded, been made acquainted 
with the major’s illness, which had only assumed a dangerous 
character a few days previously. The old soldier was dying 
calmly and painlessly — ^rather from exhaustion of strength, a 
general failure of the powers of life, than from any especial 
disease. A slight flush tinged the mortal pallor of his face as I 
entered, and the eyes emitted a slightly-reproachful expression. 

‘‘ It is not more, my dear sir,” I replied softly but eagerly to 
his look, “ than a quarter of an hour ago that I received your 
message.” 

I do not know whether he comprehended or even distinctly 
heard what I said, for his feeble but extremely anxious glance 
was directed whilst I spoke to a large oil-portrait of Kosamond 
Stewart, suspended over the mantel-piece. The young lady was 
a splendid, dark-eyed beauty, and of course the pride and 
darling of her father. Presently wrenching, as it were, his eyes 
from the picture, he looked in my face with great earnestness, 
and bending my ear close to his lips, I heard him feebly and 
brokenly say, “ A question to ask you, that’s all ; read — read !” 


2y4 


THE PUZZLE. 


His hand motioned towards a letter which lay open on the bed j 
I ran it over, and the major’s anxiety was at once explait ed. 
Rosamond Stewart had, I found, been a short time previously 
married in Scotland to Henry Thorneycroft, the son of the 
wealthy East India director. Finding his illness becoming 
serious, the major had anticipated the time and mode in which 
the young people had determined to break the intelligence to 
the irascible father of the bridegroom, and the result was the 
furious and angry letter in reply which I was perusing. Mr. 
Thorneycroft would never, he declared, recognize the marriage 
of his undutiful nephew — nephew, not son ; for he was, the 
letter announced, the child of an only sister, whose marriage 
had also mortally offended Mr. Thorneycroft, and had been 
brought up from infancy as his (Mr. Thorney croft’s) son, in 
order that the hated name of Allerton, to which the boy was 
alone legally entitled, might never offend his ear. There was 
something added insinuative of a doubt of the legality of the 
marriage, in consequence of the misnomer of the bridegroom at 
the ceremony. 

“ One question,” muttered the major, as I finished the 
perusal of the letter — “ Is Rosamond’e marriage legal 

“ No question about it. How could any one suppose that an 
involuntary misdescription can affect such a contract 

“ Enough — enough j” he gasped. “ A great load is gone ! — 

the rest is with God. Beloved Rosamond” The slight 

whisper was no longer audible ; sighs, momently becoming 
fainter and weaker, followed — ceased, and in little more than 
ten minutes after the last word was spoken, life was extinct. I 
rang the bell, and turned to leave the room, and as I did so 
surprised Martin on the other side of the bed. He had been 
listening, screened by the thick damask curtains, and appeared 


THE PUZZLE. 


295 


fco be a good deal sobered. I made no remark, and proceeded 
on down stairs. The man followed, and as soon as we had 
gained the hall said quickly, yet hesitatingly, “ Sir — sir !” 

“ Well, what have you to say 

“ Nothing very particular, sir. But did I understand you to 
say just now, that it was of no consequence if a man married in 
a false name 

“ That depends upon circumstances. Why do you ask 

“ Oh, nothing — nothing ; only I have heard it’s transporta- 
tion, especially if there’s money.” 

Perhaps you are right. Anything else 

“ No,” said he, opening the door ; “ that’s all — mere 
curiosity.” 

I heard nothing more of the family for some time, except 
with reference to Major Stewart’s personal property, about 
£4000 bequeathed to his daughter, with a charge thereon of an 
annuity of £20 a year for Mrs. Leslie, the aged house-keeper ; 
the necessary business connected with which we transacted. 
But about a twelvemonth after the major’s death, the marriage 
of the elder Thorneycroft with a widow of the sanm name as 
himself, and a cousin, the paper stated, was announced ; and 
pretty nearly a year and a half subsequent to the appearance 
of this ominous paragraph, the decease of Mr. Henry Thorney- 
croft at Lausanne, in Switzerland, who had left, it was added in 
the newspaper stock-phrase of journalism, a young widow and 
two sons to mourn their irreparable loss. Silence again, as far 
as we were concerned, settled upon the destinies of the descend- 
ants of our old military client, till one fine morning a letter 
from Dr. Hampton informed us of the sudden death by apo- 
plexy, a few days previously, of the East India director. Dr. 
Hampton further hinted that he should have occasion to write 


296 


THE PUZZLE. 


US again in a day or two, relative to the deceased’s affairs, 
which, owing to Mr. Thorney croft’s unconquerable aversion to 
making a will, had, it was feared, been left in an extremely un- 
satisfactory state. Dr. Hampton had written to us, at the 
widow’s request, in consequence of his having informed her that 
we had been the professional advisers of Major Stewart, and 
were in all probability those of his daughter, Mrs. Henry 
Allerton. 

We did not quite comprehend the drift of this curious 
epistle ; but although not specially instructed, we determined at 
once to write to Mrs. Rosamond Thorneycroft or Allerton, who 
with her family was still abroad, and in the meantime take such 
formal steps in her behalf as might appear necessary. 

We were not long in doubt as to the motives of the ex- 
tremely civil application to ourselves on the part of the widow 
of the East India director. The deceased’s wealth had been 
almost all invested in land, which went, he having died in- 
testate, to his nephew’s son, Henry Allerton ; and the personals 
in which the widow would share were consequently of very small 
amount. Mrs. Thorneycroft was, therefore, anxious to propose, 
through us, a more satisfactory and equitable arrangement. 
We could of course say nothing till the arrival of Mrs. Rosa- 
mond Allerton, for which, however, we had only a brief time to 
wait. There were, we found, no indisposition on that lady’s 
part to act with generosity towards Mr. Thorneycroft ’s widow — 
a showy, vulgarish person, by the way, of about forty years of 
age — but there was a legal difficulty in the way, in consequence 
of the heir-at-law being a minor. Mrs. Thorneycroft became 
at length terribly incensed, and talked a good deal of angry 
nonsense about disputing the claim of Henry Allerton ’s son to 
the estates, on the ground that his marriage, having been con- 


THE PUZZLE. 


297 


tracted in a wrong name, was null and void. Several annoying 
paragraphs got in consequence into the Sunday newspapers, and 
these brought about a terrible disclosure. 

About twelve o’clock one day, the Widow Thorney croft 
bounced unceremoniously into the ofi&ce, dragging in with her 
A comely and rather interesting-looking young woman, but of a 
decidedly rustic complexion and accent, and followed by a grave, 
.niddle-aged clergyman. The widow’s large eyes sparkled with 
strong excitement, and her somewhat swarthy features were 
flushed with hot blood. 

‘‘ I have brought you,” she burst out abruptly, “ the real 
Mrs. Allerton, and ” 

“ No, no !” interrupted the young woman, who appeared 
much agitated — “ Thorney croft, not Allerton !” 

“ I know, child — I know ; but that is nothing to the purpose. 
This young person, Mr. Sharp, is, I repeat, the true and lawful 
Mrs. Henry Allerton.” 

“ Pooh !” I answered ; ‘‘ do you take us for idiots This,” 
I added with some sternness, “ is either a ridiculous misappre- 
hension or an attempt at imposture, and I am very careless 
which it may be.” 

“ You are mistaken, sir,” rejoined the clergyman mildly. 
“ This young woman was certainly married by me at Swindon 
church, Wilts, to a gentleman of the name of Henry Thorney- 
croft, who, it appears from the newspapers, confirmed by this 
lady, was no other than Mr. Henry Allerton. This marriage, 
we find, took place six months previously to that contracted 
with Rosamond Stewart. I have further to say that this young 
woman, Maria Emsbury, is a very respectable person, and that 
her marriage-portion, of a little more than eight hundred pounds, 
was given to her husband, whom she has only seen thrice since 


298 


THE PUZZLE. 


her marriage, to support himself till the death of his reputed 
father, constantly asserted by him to be imminent.” 

“ A story very smoothly told, and I have no doubt in your 
opinion quite satisfactory ; but there is one slight matter which 
I fancy you will find somewhat difficult of proof — I mean the 
identity of Maria Emsbury’s husband with the son or nephew of 
the late Mr. Thorneycroft.” 

‘‘ He always said he was the son of the rich East Indian, Mr. 
Thorneycroft,” said the young woman with a hysterical sob ; 
“ and here,” she added, “ is his picture in his wedding-dress — 
that of an officer of the Gloucestershire Yeomanry. He gave it 
me the day before the wedding.” 

I almost snatched the portrait. Sure enough it was a 
miniature of Henry Allerton — there could be no doubt about 
that. 

Mr. Flint, who had been busy with some papers, here ap- 
proached and glanced at the miniature. 

I was utterly confounded, and my partner, I saw, was equally 
dismayed ; and no wonder, entertaining as we both did the 
highest respect and admiration for the high-minded and beau- 
tiful daughter of Major Stewart. 

The Widow Thorneycroft’s exultation was exuberant. 

“ As this only legal marriage,” said she, “ has been blessed 
with no issue, I am of course, as you must be aware, the legiti- 
mate heiress-at-law, as my deceased husband’s nearest blood- 
relative. I shall, however,” she added, “ take care to amply 
provide for my widowed niece-in-law.” 

The young woman made a profound rustic courtesy, and tears 
of unaffected gratitude, I observed, filled her eyes. 

The game was not, however, to be quite so easily surrendered 
as they appeared to imagine. ‘‘ Tut ! tut !” exclaimed Mr. 


THE PUZZLE. 


299 


Flint bluntly — “ this may be mere practice. Who knows how 
the portrait has been obtained 

The girl's eyes flashed with honest anger. There was no prac- 
tice about her I felt assured. “ Here are other proofs : My 
husband’s signet-ring, left accidentally, I think, with me, and 
two letters which I from curiosity took out of his coat-pocket — 
the day, I am pretty sure it was, after we were married.” 

“ If this cumulative circumstantial evidence does not con- 
vince you, gentlemen,” added the Eev. Mr. Wishart, “ I have 
direct personal testimony to offer. You know Mr. Angerstein 
of Bath .?” 

‘‘ I do.” 

“ Well, Mr. Hfcijfy Thorneycroil or Allerton, was at the time 
this marriage took place, on a visit to that gentleman ; and I 
myself saw the bridegroom, whom I had united a fortnight 
previously in Swindon church, walking arm-and-arm with Mr. 
Angerstein in Sydney Gardens, Bath. I was at some little 
distance, but I recognized both distinctly, and bowed. Mr. 
Angerstein returned my salutation, and he recollects the cir- 
cumstance distinctly. The gentleman walking with him in the 
uniform of the Gloucestershire Yeomanry was, Mr. Angerstein 
is prepared to depose, Mr. Henry Thorneycroft or Allerton.” 

“ You waste time, reverend sir,” said Mr. Flint with an 
affectation of firmness and unconcern he was, I knew, far from 
feeling. “We are the attorneys of Mrs. Bosamond Allerton, 
and shall, I dare say, if you push us to it, be able to tear this 
ingeniously-colored cobweb of yours to shreds. If you deter- 
mine on going to law, your solicitor can serve us ; we will enter 
an appearance, and our client will be spared unnecessary 
annoyance.” 

They were about to leave, when, as ill-luck would have it, 


300 


THE PUZZLE. 


one of the clerks who, deceived by the momentary silence, and 
from not having been at home when the unwelcome visitors 
arrived, believed we were disengaged, opened the door, and 
admitted Mrs. Rosamond Allerton and her aunt. Miss Stewart. 
Before we could interpose with a word, the Widow Thorney- 
croft burst out with the whole story in a torrent of exultant 
volubility that it was impossible to check or restrain. 

For awhile contemptuous incredulity, indignant scocn, upheld 
the assailed lady ; but as proof after proof was hurled at her, 
reinforced by the grave soberness of the clergyman and the 
weeping sympathy of the young woman, her firmness gave way, 
and she swooned in her aunt’s arms. We should have more 
peremptorily interfered but for our unfortunate client’s depre- 
catory gestures. She seemed determined to hear the worst at 
once. Now, however, we had the office cleared of the in- 
truders without much ceremony and, as soon as the horror- 
stricken lady was sufficiently recovered, she was conducted to 
her carriage, and after arranging for an early interview on the 
morrow, was driven ofi*. 

I found our interesting, and, I feared, deeply-injured client 
much recovered from the shock which on the previous day had 
overwhelmed her ; and although exceedingly pale — lustrously 
so, as polished Parian marble — and still painfully agitated, there 
was hope, almost confidence, in her eye and tone. 

“ There is some terrible misapprehension in this frightful 
affair, Mr. Sharp,” she began. “ Henry, my hufeband, was 
utterly incapable of a mean or dishonest act, much less of such 
utter baseness as this of which he is accused. They also say, 
do they not,” she continued, with a smile of haughty contempt, 
“ that he robbed the young woman of her poor dowry — some 
eight hundred pounds ? A proper story 


THE PUZZLE. 


301 


“ That, I confess, from what little I knew of Mr. Henry 
Thorneycroft, stamps the whole affair as a fabrication ; and yet 
the Reverend Mr. Wish art — a gentleman of high character, I 
understand — is very positive. The young woman, too, appeared 
truthful and sincere.” 

“ Yes — it cannot be denied. Let me say also — for it is best 
to look at the subject on its darkest side — I find, on looking over 
my letters, that my husband was staying with Mr. Angerstein 
at the time stated. He was also at that period in the Glouces- 
tershire Yeomanry. I gave William Martin, but the other day, 
a suit of his regimentals very little the worse for wear.” 

“ You forget to state, Rosamond,” said Miss Stewart, who 
was sitting beside her niece, “ that Martin, who was with his 
young master at Bath, is willing to make oath that no such 
marriage took place as asserted, at Swindon church.” 

“ That alone would, I fear, my good madam, very little avail. 
Can I see William Martin ?” 

“ Certainly.” The bell was rung, and the necessary ordei 
given. 

“ This Martin is much changed for the better, I hear .?” 

“ 0 yes, entirely so,” said Miss Stewart. “ He is also ex- 
ceedingly attached to us all, the children especially ; and his 
grief and anger, when informed of what had occurred, thoroughly 
attest his faithfulness and sincerity.” 

Martin entered, and was, I thought, somewhat confused by 
my apparently unexpected presence. A look at his face and 
head dissipated a half-suspicion that had arisen in both Flint’s 
mind and my own. 

I asked him a few questions relative to the sojourn of bis 
master at Bath, and then said ‘ I wish you to go with me and 
see this Maria Emsbury.” 


02 


THE PUZZLE. 


As I spoke, something seemed to attract Martin’s attention 
in the street, and suddenly turning round, his arm swept a 
silver pastil-stand off the table. He stooped down to gather up 
the dispersed pastils, and as he did so, said, in answer to my 
request, “ that he had not the slightest objection to do so.” 

“ That being the case, we will set off at once, as she and her 
friends are probably at the office by this time. They are de- 
sirous of settling the matter off-hand,” I added with a smile, 
addressing Mrs. Allerton, “ and avoiding, if possible, the delays 
and uncertainties of the law.” 

As I anticipated, the formidable trio were with Mr. Flint. I 
introduced Martin, and as I did so, watched, with an anxiety I 
could hardly have given a reason for, the effect of his appear- 
ance upon the young woman. I observed nothing. He was 
evidently an utter stranger to her, although, from the involun- 
tary flush which crossed his features, it occurred to me that he 
was in some way an accomplice with his deceased master in the 
cruel and infamous crime which had, I strongly feared, been 
perpetrated. 

“ Was this person present at your marriage .?” I asked. 

“ Certainly not. But I think — now I look at him — that I 
have seen him somewhere — about Swindon, it must have been ” 

William Martin mumbled out that he had never been in 
Swindon ; neither, he was sure, had his master. 

‘‘ What is that said the girl, looking sharply up, and sud- 
denly coloring — ‘‘ What is that 

Martin, a good deal abashed, again mumbled out his belief 
that young Mr. Thorneycroft, as he was then called, had never 
been at Swindon. 

The indignant scarlet deepened on the young woman’s face 
ind temples, and she looked at Martin with fixed attention and 


THE PUZZLE. 


303 


surprise. Presently recovering, as if from some vague confused- 
ness of mind, she said, “ What you lelieve can be no conse- 
quence — truth is truth, for all that.” 

The Rev. Mr. Wishart here interposed, remarking that as it 
was quite apparent we were determined to defend the usurpation 
by Miss Rosamond Stewart — a lady to be greatly pitied, no 
doubt — of another’s right, it was useless to prolong or renew 
the interview ; and all three took immediate leave. A few 
minutes afterward Martin also departed, still vehemently as- 
serting that no such marriage ever took place at Swindon or 
anywhere else. 

No stone, as people say, was left unturned by us, in the hope 
of discovering some clue that might enable us to unravel the 
tangled web of coherent, yet, looking at the character of young 
Mr. Allcrton, im'prohahle circumstance. We were unsuccessful, 
and unfortunately many other particulars which came to light 
but deepened the adverse complexion of the case. Two re- 
spectable persons living at Swindon were ready to depose on 
oath that they had on more than one occasion seen Maria 
Emsbury’s sweetheart with Mr. Angerstein at Bath — once es- 
pecially at the theatre, upon the benefit-night jf the great Ed- 
mund Kean, who had been playing there for a few nights. 

The entire case, fully stated, was ultimately laid by us before 
eminent counsel — one of whom is now, by the by, a chief-justice 

and we were advised that the evidence as set forth by us could 

not be contended against with any chance of success. This sad 
result was communicated by me to Mrs. Allerton, as she still 
unswervingly believed herself to be, and was borne with more 
constancy and firmness than I had expected. Her faith in her 
husband’s truth and honor was not in the slightest degree shaken 
by the accumulated proofs. She would not, however, attempt 


304 


THE P ZZLE. 


to resist them before a court of law. Something would, she 
was confident, thereafter come to light that would vindicate the 
truth, and confiding in our zeal and watchfulness, she, her aunt, 
and children, would in the meantime shelter themselves from 
the gaze of the world in their former retreat at Lausanne. 

This being the unhappy lady’s final determination, I gave the 
other side notice that we should be ready on a given day to 
surrender possession of the house and effects in South Audley 
Street, which the Widow Thorneycroft had given up to her 
supposed niece-in-law and family on their arrival in England, 
and to re-obtain which, and thereby decide the whole question in 
dispute, legal proceedings had already been commenced. 

On the morning appointed for the purpose — having taken 
leave of the ladies the day previously — I proceeded to South 
Audley Street, to formally give up possession, under protest, 
however. The niece and aunt were not yet gone. This, 1 
found, was owing to Martin, who, according to the ladies, was 
so beside himself with grief and rage that he had been unable 
to expedite as he ought to have done, the packing intrusted to 
his care. I was vexed at this, as the Widow Thorneycroft, her 
protegee^ and the Rev. Mr. Wishart, accompanied by a solicitor, 
were shortly expected ; and it was desirable that a meeting of 
the antagonistic parties .should be avoided. I descended to the 
lower regions to remonstrate with and hurry Martin, and found, 
as I feared, that his former evil habits had returned upon him. 
It was not yet twelve o’clock, and he was already partially in- 
toxicated, and pale, trembling, and nervous from the effects, it 
was clear to me, of the previous night’s debauch. 

“ Your mistress is grossly deceived in you !” I angrily ex- 
claimed ; “ and if my advice were taken, you would be turned 
out of the house at once without a character. There, don’t 


THE PUZZLE. 


305 


attempt to bamboozle me with that nonsense ; I’ve seen fellows 
crying drunk before now” 

He stammered out some broken excuses, to which I very 
impatiently listened ; and so thoroughly muddled did his brain 
appear, that he either could not jr would not comprehend the 
possibility of Mrs. Allerton and her children being turned out 
of house and home, as he expressed it, and over and over again 
asked me if nothing could yet be done to prevent it. I was 
completely disgusted with the fellow, and sharply bidding him 
hasten his preparations for departure, rejoined the ladies, who 
were by this time assembled in the back drawing-room, ready 
shawled and bonneted for their journey. It was a sad sight. 
Rosamond Stewart’s splendid face was shadowed by deep and 
bitter grief, borne, it is true, with pride and fortitude ; but it 
was easy to see its throbbing pulsations through all the forced 
calmness of the surface. Her aunt, of a weaker nature, sobbed 
loudly in the fullness of her grief ; and the children, shrinking 
instinctively in the chilling atmosphere of a great calamity, 
clung, trembling and half-terrified, the eldest especially, to 
their mother. I did not insult them with phrases of condo- 
lence, but turned the conversation, if such it could be called, 
upon their future home and prospects in Switzerland. Some 
time had thus elapsed when my combative propensities were 
suddenly aroused by the loud dash of a carriage to the door, 
and the peremptory rat-tat-tat which followed. I felt my cheek 
flame as I said, “ They demand admittance as if in possession 
of an assured, decided right. It is not yet too late to refuse 
possession, and take the chances of the law’s uncertainty.” 

Mrs. Allerton shook her head with decisive meaning. “ I 
could not bear it,” she said in a tone of sorrowful gentleness. 
“ But. I trust we shah not be intruded upon.” 


306 


THE PUZZLE. 


I hurried out of the apartment, and met the triumphant 
claimants. I explained the cause of the delay, and suggested 
that Mrs. Thorneycroft and her friends could amuse themselves 
in the garden whilst the solicitor and I ran over the inventory 
of the chief valuables to be surrendered together. 

This was agreed to. A minute or two before the conclusion 
of this necessary formality, I received a message from the ladies, 
expressive of a wish to be gone at once, if I would escort them 
to the hotel ; and Martin, who was nowhere to be found, could 
follow. I hastened to comply with their wishes ; and we were 
just about to issue from the front drawing-room, into which we 
had passed through the folding-doors, when we were confronted 
by the widow and her party, who had just reached the landing of 
the great staircase. We drew back in silence. The mutual con- 
fusion into which we were thrown caused a momentary hesitation 
only, and we were passing on when the butler suddenly appeared. 

“ A gentleman,” he said, “ an officer, is at the door, who 
wishes to see a Miss Maria Emsbury, formerly of Swindon.” 

I stared at the man, discerned a strange expression in his 
face, and it glanced across me at the same moment that I had 
heard no knock at the door. 

“ See Miss Emsbury !” exclaimed the Widow Thorneycroft, 
recovering her speech — “ there is no such person here !” 

“ Pardon me, madam,” I cried, catching eagerly at the in- 
terruption, as a drowning man is said to do at a straw — “ this 
young person was at least Miss Emsbury. Desire the officer to 
walk up.” The butler vanished instantly, and we all huddled 
back disorderly into the drawing-room, some one closing th;; 
door after us. I felt the grasp of Mrs. Allerton’s arm tighten 
convulsively round mine, and her breath I heard, came quick 
and short. I was hardly less agitated myself. 


THE PUZZLE. 


307 


Steps — slow and deliberate steps — were presently heard as- 
cending the stairs, the door opened, and in walked a gentleman 
in the uniform of a yeomanry officer, whom at the first glance I 
could have sworn to be the deceased Mr. Henry Allerton. A 
slight exclamation of terror escaped Mrs. Allerton, followed by 
a loud hysterical scream from the Swindon young woman, as 
she staggered forward towards the stranger, exclaiming, “ Oh, 
merciful Grod ! — my husband !” and then fell, overcome with 
emotion, in his outstretched arms. 

“ Yes,” said the Rev. Mr. Wishart promptly, “ that is cer- 
tainly the gentleman I united to Maria Emsbury. What can 
be the meaning of this scene 

“ Is that sufficient, Mr. Sharp exclaimed the officer, in a 
voice that removed all doubt. 

“ Quite, quite,” I shouted — “ more than enough !” 

“ Very well, then,” said William Martin, dashing off his 
black curling wig, removing his whiskers of the same color, and 
giving his own light, but now cropped head of hair and clean- 
shaved cheeks to view. Now, then, send for the police, and 
let them transport me — I richly merit it. I married this young 
woman in a false name ; I robbed her of her money, and I de- 
serve the hulks, if anybody ever did.” 

You might have heard a pin drop in the apartment whilst 
the repentant rascal thus spoke ; and when he ceased, Mrs. 
Allerton, unable to bear up against the tumultuous emotion 
which his words excited, sank without breath or sensation upon 
a sofa. Assistance was summoned ; and whilst the as yet im- 
perfectly-informed servants were running from one to another 
with restoratives, I had leisure to look around. The Widow 
Thorneycroft, who had dropped into a chair, sat gazing in be- 
wildered dismay upon the stranger, who still held her lately- 


308 


THE PUZZLE. 


discovered niece-in-law in his arms ; and I could see the hot per- 
spiration which had gathered on her brow run in large drops down 
the white channels which they traced through the thick rouge of 
her cheeks. But the reader’s fancy will supply the best image 
of this unexpected and extraordinary scene. I cleared the house 
of intruders and visitors as speedily as possible, well assured that 
matters would now adjust themselves without difficulty. 

And so it proved. Martin was not sent to the hulks, though 
no question that he amply deserved a punishment as great as 
that. The self-sacrifice, as he deemed it, which he at last 
made, pleaded for him, and so did his pretty-looking wife ; and 
the upshot was, that the mistaken bride’s dowry was restored, 
with something over, and that a tavern was taken for them in 
Piccadilly — the White Bear, I think it was — where they lived 
comfortably and happily, I have heard, for a considerable time, 
and having considerably added to their capital, removed to a 
hotel of a higher grade in the city, where they now reside. It 
was not at all surprising that the clergyman and others had been 
deceived. The disguise, and Martin’s imitative talent, might have 
misled persons on their guard, much more men unsuspicious of 
deception. The cast in the eyes, as well as a general resem- 
blance of features, also of course greatly aided the imposture. 

Of Mrs. Rosamond Allerton, I have only to say, for it is all 
I know, that she is rich, unwedded, and still splendidly beau- 
tiful, "hough of course somewhat passee compared with herself 
twenty years since. Happy, too, I have no doubt she is, judg- 
ing from the placid brightness of her aspect the last time I saw 
her beneath the transept of the Crystal Palace, on the occasion 
of its opening by the Queen. I remember wondering at the 
time, if she often recalled to mind the passage in her life which 
I have here recorded. 


THE ONE BLACK SPOT. 


On the evening of a bleak, cold March day, in an early yeai 
of this century, a woman, scantily clad, led a boy about eight 
years old, along the high-road towards the old city of Exeter. 
They crept close to the hedge-side to shelter themselves from 
the cloud.! of dust, which the sudden gusts of east wind blew 
in their faces. 

They had walked many miles, and the boy limped painfully. 
He often looked up anxiously into his mother’s face, and asked 
if they had much farther to go ? She scarcely appeared to 
notice his inquiries ; her fixed eyes and sunken cheek gave 
evidence that sorrow absorbed all her thoughts. When he 
spoke, she drew him closer to her side, but made no reply ; 
until, at length, the child, wondering at her silence, began to 
sob. She stopped and looked at her child for a moment, her 
eyes filled with tears. They had gained the top of a hill, from 
which was visible in the distance, the dark massive towers of 
the cathedral and the church-spires of the city ; she pointed 
them out, and said, “We shall soon be there, Ned.” Then, 
sitting down on a tree that was felled by the road-side, she took 
“ Ned” on her lap, and, bending over him, wept aloud. 

“ Are you very tired, mother .^” said the boy, trying to com- 
fort her. “ ’Tis a long way — but don’t cry — we shall see 
father when we come there.” 

“ Yes — ^you will see your father once more.” 


aio 


THE OXE BLACK SPOT. 


She checked herself ; and, striving to dry her tears, sat look 
ing wistfully towards the place of her destination. 

The tramp of horses, coming up the hill they had just as^ 
cended, drew the boy’s attention to that direction. In a mo- 
ment he had sprung from his mother, and was shouting, with 
child-like delight, at the appearance of a gay cavalcade which 
approached. About thirty men on horseback, in crimson live- 
ries, surrounded two carriages, one of which contained two of 
His Majesty’s Judges, accompanied by the High SherijQf of the 
county, who, with his javelin-men, was conducting them to the 
city, in which the Lent Assizes were about to be held. 

The woman knelt until the carriages and the gaudy javelin,- 
men had turned the corner at the foot of a hill, and were no 
longer visible ; with her hands clasped together, she had prayed 
to Grod to temper with mercy the heart of the Judge, before 
whom her unfortunate husband, now in jail, would have to 
stand his trial. Then, taking the boy again by the hand — 
unable to explain to him what he had seen — she pursued her 
way with him, silently, along the dusty road. 

As they drew nearer to the city, they overtook various groups 
of stragglers, who had deemed it their duty, in spite of the 
inclement weather to wander some miles out of the city to 
catch an early glimpse of “ My Lord Judge,” and the gay 
Sheriff’s officers. Troops, also, of itinerant ballad-singers, 
rope-dancers, mountebanks, and caravans of wild beasts, still 
followed the Judges, as they had done throughout the circuit. 
^ Walk more slowly, Ned,” said the mother, checking the 
boy’s desire to follow the shows.’ “I am very tired; let 
us rest a little here.” They lingered until the crowd was far 
ahead of them — and were left alone on the road. 

Late in the evening, as the last stragglers were returning 


THE ONE BLACK SPOT. 


311 


home, the wayfarers found themselves in the suburbs of the 
city, and the forlorn woman looked around anxiously for a 
lodging. She feared the noisy people in the streets; and, 
turning timidly towards an old citizen who stood by his garden- 
gate, chatting to his housekeeper, and watching the passers-by 
— there was a kindness in his look which gave her confidence — 
80 , with a homely courtesy, she ventured to inquire of him 
where she might find a decent resting-place. 

“ Have you never been here before ?” he asked. 

“ Never but once, sir, when 1 was a child, many years ago.” 

“ What part of the country do you come from 

‘‘ Uffculme.” 

“ Uffculme } How did you get here 

“We have walked.” 

“ You don’t say that you have trudged all the way with that 
youngster 

The housekeeper drowned the reply by loudly announcing 
to the old gentleman that his supper was waiting — “ We have 
no lodgings, my good woman,” she said, turning away from 
the gate. 

“ Stop, Martha, stop,” said ihe citizen. “ Can’t we direct 
them somewhere ? — you see they are strangers. I wonder 
where they could get a lodging .^” 

“ I am sure I don’t know,” replied Martha, peevishly ; 
“ your supper will be cold — come in !” 

“ WsWe had no supper,” said the boy. 

“ Poor little fellow !” said the old gentleman ; “ then I am 
sure you shall not go without. Martha, the bread and cheese !” 
And, opening the garden-gate, he made the travelers enter and 
sit down in the summer-hsuse, whilst he went to fetch them a 
draught of cider. 


312 


THE ONE BLACK SPOT. 


In spite of Martha’s grumbling, he managed to get a sub 
stantial repast ; but it grieved him that the woman, though 
she thanked him very gratefully and humbly, appeared unable 
to eat. 

“ Your boy eats heartily,” said he, “ but I am afraid you 
don’t enjoy it.” 

With a choking utterance she thanked him, but could not eat. 

The good old man was striving, as well as he could, to ex- 
plain to them their way to a part of the city, where they might 
find a lodging, when the garden-gate opened, and a young man 
gave to the host a hearty greeting. 

At the sound of his voice, the cup the woman held in her 
hand, fell to the ground. This drew the youth’s attention to 
her ; he looked earnestly at her for a moment, and with an 
exclamation of surprise, said, “ Why, this is Susan Harvey ?” 

The woman hid her face in her hands, and moaned. 

“ Do you know her, then, Alfred said the uncle. 

“ She nursed me when I was a little sickly boy,” replied the 
youth ; “ she lived many years in my father’s house.” 

“ Then I am sure you will take her to some lodging to-night, 
for she is quite a stranger here. There is Martha calling to me 
again ; she is not in the best temper to-night, so I had better 
go in, and I leave them to your care.” 

“ Oh ! tell me, Mr. Gray, have you seen him r’" cried the 
woman eagerly. 

“ I have been with him to-day, Susan,” said Gray, kindly 
taking her hand — “ do not be cast down ; all that (vm be done 
for Martin, shall be done. Let me take you where y'v,i ;an rest 
to night, and to-morrow you can be with him.” 

The weary little boy had fallen asleep on the s.>at ; the 
mother strove to arous? him, but Alfred Gia/ prevented her, 


THE ONE BLACK SPOT 


SIS 


by taking the little fellow in his arms. He carried him by her 
side through the streets ; she could utter no words of gratitude, 
but her tears flowed fast, and told how the young man’s sym- 
pathy had fallen like balm upon her wounded heart. “ God 
has taken pity on me,” she said, when they parted. 

With a qnick step Alfred regained his uncle’s cottage ; he 
had a difficult task to accomplish. Martin Harvey, now await- 
ing his trial for poaching, and for being concerned in an affray 
with Sir George Roberts’ game-keepers, had once been his- 
father’s apprentice. Young Gray had been endeavoring to 
procure for him all the legal help which the laws then allowed ; 
but his own means were limited, and, when he met Susan and 
her boy in the garden, he had come to visit his uncle to ask his 
assistance. He had now returned on the same errand. He 
pleaded earnestly, and with caution, but was repulsed. It was 
in vain he urged the poverty of agricultural laborers at that 
season, and the temptation which an abundance of game af- 
forded to half-starved men and their wretched families. 

“ Nonsense, Alfred !” said old Mr. Gray. “ I would not 
grudge you the money if you did not want it for a bad purpose. 
You must not excuse men who go out with guns and fire at 
their fellow-creatures in the dark.” 

“ Martin did not fire, uncle — that is what I want to prove, 
and save him, if I can, from transportation. He has a wife 
and child.” 

“ Wife and child !” repeated the old man thoughtfully. 

You did not tell me he had a wife and child ; that poor 
woman came from Uffculme.” 

“ Providence must have guided her,” said the younger 
Gray. “ It was indeed Harvey’s wife and son whom you so 
lately relieved.” 


314 


THE ONE BLACK SPOT. 


“ You shall have the money. I have all through life prayed 
that my heart may not be hardened ; and I find, old as I am, 
that, every day I have fresh lessons to learn.” 

The next morning, while Alfred held anxious consultation 
with the lawyers, the wife and husband met within the prison 
walls. They sat together in silence, for neither could speak a 
single word of hope. The hoy never forgot that long and 
dreary day, during which he watched, with wondering thoughts, 
the sad faces of his ruined parents. 

The Crown Court of the Castle was next morning crowded 
to overflowing. Among the struggling crowd that vainly sought 
to gain admission, was Martin Harvey’s wife. She was rudely 
repulsed by the door-keepers, who “ wondered what women 
wanted in such places.” She still strove to keep her ground, 
and watched with piteous looks the doors of the court. She 
braved the heat and pressure for some time ; hut a sickly faint- 
ness at length came over her. She was endeavoring to retreat 
into the open air, when she felt some one touch her shoulder, 
and turning, saw Alfred Gray making his way toward her. 
After a moment’s pause in the cool air, he led her round to a 
side-door, through which there was a private entrance into the 
court. He whispered a word to an officer, who admitted them, 
and pointed to a seat behind the dock, where they were screened 
from observation, and where the woman could see her husband 
standing between his two fellow-prisoners. 

The prisoners were listening anxiously to the evidence which 
the principal game-keeper was offering against them. The 
first, a man about sixty, excited greater interest than the others. 
He earnestly attended to what was going on, but gave no sign 
of fear, as to the result. Brushing back his gray locks, he 
gazed round the court, with something like a smile. This 


THR ONE BLACK SPOT. 


315 


man’s life had been a strange one. Early in his career he had 
been ejected from a farm which he had held under the father 
of the present prosecutor, Sir George Roberts ; he soon after 
lost what little property had been left him, and, in despair, en- 
listed — was sent abroad with his regiment — and for many years 
shared in the toils and achievements of our East Indian war- 
fare. Returning home on a small pension, he fixed his abode 
in his native village, and sought to indulge his old enmity 
against the family that had injured him by every kind of an- 
noyance in his power. The present baronet, a narrow-minded 
tyrannical man, afforded by his unpopularity good opportunity 
to old Ralph Somers to induce others to join him in his schemes 
of mischief and revenge. ‘‘ The game,” which was plentiful 
on the estate, and the preservation of which was Sir George’s 
chief delight, formed the principal object of attack ; the poverty 
of the laborers tempted them to follow the old soldier, who 
managed affairs so warily, that for nine years he had been an 
object of the utmost terror and hatred to Sir George and his 
keepers, whilst all their efforts to detect and capture him had, 
until now, been fruitless. 

Martin Harvey, who stood by his side with his shattered arm 
in a sling, bore marks of acute mental suffering and remorse ; 
but hi^ countenance was stamped with its original, open, manly 
expression — a face often to be seen among a group of English 
farm laborers, expressive of a warm heart, full of both courage 
and kindness. 

The evidence was soon given. The game-keepers, on the 
night of the 24th of February, were apprised that poachers 
were in the plantations. Taking with them a stronger force 
than usual, all well-armed, they discovered the objects of their 
search, in a lane leading out into the fields, and shouted to them 


.^16 THE ONE BLACK SPOT. 

to surrender. They distinctly saw their figures flying oefore 
them, and when they approached them, one of the iRigitives 
turned round and fired, wounding one of the keepers’ legs with 
a quantity of small shot. The keeper immediately fired m re- 
turn, and brought down a poacher ; old Ralph’s voice was heard 
shouting to them to desist, and upon coming up they found him 
standing by the side of Martin Harvey, who had fallen severely 
wounded. Three guns lay by them, one of which had been 
discharged, but no one could swear who had fired it ; search 
was made all night for the other man, but without success. 

When the prisoners were called on for their defence, they 
looked at one another for a moment as if neither wished to 
speak first ; Ralph, however, began. He had little to say. 
Casting a look of defiance at Sir George and his lady, v^ho sat 
in a side-gallery above the court, he freely confessed that hatred 
to the man who had injured him in his youth, and who had 
treated him with harshness on his return from abroad, had been 
the motive of his encouraging and aiding in these midnight de- 
predations ; he expressed sorrow for having occasioned trouble 
to his neighbor Harvey. “ What I can say will be of little use 
to me here,” said Martin Harvey, in a hollow voice ; “ I am 
ruined, beyond redress ; but I was a very poor man when I first 
joined, with others, in snaring game ; I often wanted bread, 
and saw my wife and child pinched for food also. The rich 
people say game belongs to them ; but — ^well — all I can say 
more is, that I take God to witness I never lifted a murderous 
gun against my fellow-man ; he who did it has escaped ; and I 
have suflfered this broken limb — but that I don’t mind — I have 
worse than that to bear — I have broken my wife’s heart, and 
my child will be left an orphan.” 

His voice failed. There was an uneasy movement among the 


THE ONE BLACK SPOT. 


audience ; and a lady, who had been leaning over the rails of 
the side-gallery listening with deep attention, fainted, and was 
carried out of court. The prisoner’s pale wife, who had bowed 
her head behind him in silent endurance, heard a whisper 
among the bystanders that it was Lady Roberts, and a hope 
entered her mind that the lady’s tender heart might feel for 
them. 

“ Have you any witnesses to call asked the Judge. 

Martin looked round with a vacant gaze ; the attorney whis- 
pered to him, and beckoned to Alfred Gray. 

Alfred went into the witness-box, and told of the honesty, 
sobriety, and good conduct of Martin Harvey, during all the 
years he was in his father’s house — “ He was there before 
I was born,” said the young man, “ and only left when 1 
was obliged to leave also, sixteen years aft^. A better man 
never broke bread — he was beloved by every body who knew 
him. Till now his character was never tainted. It’s the one 
black spot.” 

The Judge commenced summing up ; it was evident to all 
who had paid attention to the evidence, that the conviction of 
two of the prisoners was certain. Alfred Gray knew this, and 
strove to induce the wife to leave with him before the fatal 
close of proceedings ; but she shook her head and would not go. 
‘‘ I shall have strength to bear it,” she said. 

He sat down by her side, and heard the fearful verdict of 
“ guilty” pronounced against her husband and Ralph Somers ; 
and then the dreaded doom of transportation for life awarded 
to them. As they turned to leave the dock, Martin looked 
down upon the crushed and broken-hearted being whom he had 
sworn to protect and cherish through life, and in spite of every 
effort to repress it, a cry of agony burst from his lips ; it was 


318 


THE ONE BLACK SPOT. 


answered by a fainter sound, and Alfred Gray lifted the help- 
less, lifeless woman from the ground, and carried her into the 
open air. 

Months passed ; and on the day when the convict ship, with 
its freight of heavy hearts, began its silent course over the great 
waters, the widowed wife took her fatherless child by the hand, 
and again traversed the weary road which led them to their 
desolated home. 

The kindness of the Grays had supplied a few immediate 
necessaries. Some one had told her of women having, by 
the aid of friends, managed to meet their husbands once more 
in those distant parts of the’ earth ; and this knowledge once in 
her agitated mind, raised a hope which inspired her to pursue 
her daily task without fainting, and to watch an opportunity of 
making an attempt which she had meditated, even during that 
dreadful day of Martin’s trial. She resolved to seek admission 
into Sir George Roberts’ mansion, and appeal to the pity of his 
wife. It was told in the village that Lady Roberts had im- 
plored her husband to interpose in behalf of the men ; that his 
angry and passionate refusal had caused a breach between 
them ; that they had lived unhappily ever since ; that he 
had strictly forbidden any one to mention the subject, or to 
convey to Lady Roberts any remarks that were made in the 
neighborhood. 

Susan Harvey trembled when she entered the mansion, and 
timidly asked leave to speak to Lady Roberts. 

The servant she addressed had known her husband, and pitied 
her distress ; and, fearing lest Sir George might pass, he led 
her into his pantry, watching an opportunity to let the lady 
know of her being there. 

After a time Lady Roberts’ maid came, and beckoned her 


THE ONE BLACK SPOT. 


319 


fco follow up-stairs. In a few moments the soft voice of the 
lady of the mansion was cheering her with kind words, and en- 
couraging her to disclose her wishes. 

Before she had concluded, a step was heard without, at 
which the lady started and turned pale. Before there was 
time for retreat Sir Greorge hastily entered the apartment. 

“ Who have you here. Lady Roberts 

“ One who has a request to make, I believe,” said the lady, 
mildly. “ I wish a few moments with her.” 

‘‘ Have the goodness to walk out of this house,” said the 
baronet to Susan. ‘‘ Lady Roberts, I know this woman and I 
will not allow you to harbor such people here.” 

Although the convict’s wife never again ventured into that 
house, her wants, and those of her child, were, during three 
years, ministered to by the secret agency of the Grood Heart 
that lived so sadly there ; and when, at the expiration of that 
period. Lady Roberts died, a trusty messenger brought to the 
cottage a little legacy — sufficient, if ever news came of Martin, 
to enable the wife and child, from whom he was separated, to 
make their way across the earth, and to meet him again. 

But during those weary years no tidings of his fate had 
reached either his wife or Alfred Grray — to whom he had pro- 
mised to write when he reached his destination. Another year 
dragged its slow course over the home of affliction, and poor 
Susan’s hopes grew fainter day by day. Her sinking frame 
gave evidence of the sickness that cometh from the heart. 

One summer evening, in the next year, Alfred Gray, entered 
his uncle’s garden with a letter, and was soon seated in the sum- 
mer-house reading it aloud to his uncle and Martha. Tears 
stood in the old man’s eyes, as some touching detail of suffering 
or privation was related. And, indeed, the letter told of little 
21 


320 


THE ONE BLACK SPOT 


beside. It was from Martin. Soon after his arrival in the set- 
tlement, Martin had written to Alfred, but the letter had never 
reached England — not an unusual occurrence in those times. 
After waiting long, and getting no reply, he was driven by harsh 
treatment, and the degradation attending the life he led, to at- 
tempt, with old Ralph, an escape from the settlement. In 
simple language, he recorded the dreary life they led in the 
woods ; how, after a time, old Ralph sickened and died ; and 
how, in a desolate place, where the footsteps of man had, per- 
haps, never trod before, Martin Harvey had dug a grave, and 
buried his old companion. After that, unable to endure the 
ten ible solitude, he had sought his way back to his former mas- 
ter, and had been treated more harshly than before. Fever and 
disease had wasted his frame, until he had prayed that he might 
die and be at rest ; but Grod had been merciful to him, and had 
inclined the heart of one for whom he labored, who listened 
with compassion to his story, took him under his roof, and re- 
stored him to health. And now, Martin had obtained a ticket 
of leave, and served his kind master for wages, which he was 
carefully hoarding to send to Alfred Gray, as soon as he should 
hear from him that those he loved were still preserved, and 
would come and embrace him once more in that distant land. 

“ They shall go at once, Alfred,” said old Mr. Gray, the 
moment the last sentence was read ; “ they shall not wait ; 
we will provide the means — hey, Martha 

He did not now fear to appeal to his companion. Martha 
had grown kinder of late, and she confessed she had learned of 
her cousin what gives most comfort to those who are drawing 
near their journey’s end. “ I can help them a little,” she 
said. 

We will all help a little,” Alfred replied, “ I shall be off 


tttE ONE BLACK SPOT 


321 


at break of day to-morrow, on neighbor Collins’s pony, and shall 
give him no rest until he sets me down at Uffculmo.” 

Accordingly, early next morning, Alfred Gray was riding 
briskly along through the pleasant green lanes which led toward 
his native village. It was the middle of June, bright, warm, 
sunny weather ; and the young man’s spirits was unusually gay, 
everything around him tending to heighten the delight which 
the good news he carried had inspired him with. The pony 
stepped out bravely, and was only checked when Alfred came 
in sight of the dear old home of his childhood, and heard the 
well-known chimes calling the villagers to their morning service, 
for it was Sunday. Then for a few moments the young man 
proceeded more slowly, and his countenance wore a more sad- 
dened look, as the blessed recollections of early loves and affec- 
tions with which the scene was associated in his mind, claimed 
their power over all other thoughts. The voice of an old 
friend, from an apple-orchard hard by, recalled him from his 
reveries. 

He shook hands through the hedge. “ I will come and see 
you in the evening, Fred. I must hasten on now. She will go 
to church this morning, and I must go with her.” 

“ Who ?” asked the other. 

Alfred pointed to the cottage where Susan Harvey dwelt. 
“ I bring her good news — I have a letter. Martin is living and 
well.” 

The friend shook his head. 

Alfred dismounted, and walked towards Susan Harvey’s cot- 
tage. The door was closed, and when he looked through the 
window he could see no one inside. He lifted the latch softly 
and entered. There was no one there ; but his entrance had 
been heard, and a moment after, a fine stout lad came out of 


322 


THEONE BLACK SPOT. 


the inner chamber, took Alfred’s proffered hand, and in answer 
to his inquiries, burst into tears. 

“ She says she cannot live long, sir ; but she told last 
night, that before she died, you would come and tell us news 
of father. She has been saying all the past week that we 
should hear from him soon.” 

Whilst the boy spoke, Alfred heard a weak voice, calling his 
name from the inner room. 

“ Go in,” he said, ‘‘ and tell her I am here.” 

The boy did so, and then beckoned him to enter, 

Susan’s submissive features were but little changed, from the 
time when her husband was taken from her ; but the weak and 
wasted form that strove to raise itself in vain, as Alfred ap- 
proached the bed-side, too plainly revealed that the struggle 
was drawing to a close — that the time of rest was at hand. 

“ Thank God, you are come,” she said ; “ you have heard 
from him ? Tell me quickly, for my time is short.” 

“ I come to tell you good news, Susan. You may yet be 
restored to him.” 

“ I shall not see Martin in this world again, Mr. Gray ; but I 
shall close my eyes in peace. If you know where he is, and 
can tell me that my boy shall go and be with him, and tell him 
how, through these long weary years, we loved him, and thought 

of him, and prayed for him ” Here she broke off, and 

beckoned the boy to her. She held his hands within her own, 
whilst Alfred Gray read from the letter all that would comfort 
her. 

When he had done, she said, “ God will bless you — you have 
been very good to us in our misery. Now, will you promise me 
one thing more } Will you send my boy to his father, when I 
am gone 


THE ONE BLACK SPOT. 


323 


The promise was made, and the hoy knelt long by her bed- 
side, listening to the words of love and consolation which, with 
her latest breath, she uttered for the sake of him who, she 
hoped, would hear them again from his child’s lips. 

^ # # * * * # # # 

Nearly forty years have passed since they laid her among 
the graves of the humble villagers of Uffculme. Few remain 
now who remember her story or her name — but, on the other 
side of the world, amid scenery all unlike to that in which she 
dwelt, there stands a cheerful settler’s home, and under the 
shadow of tall acacia trees which surround the little garden in 
which some few English flowers are blooming, there are sitting, 
in the cool of the summer evening, a group whose faces are all 
of the Anglo-Saxon mould. A happy looking couple, in the 
prime of life, are there, with children playing around them ; and 
one little gentle girl, they call Susan, is sitting on the knee of 
an aged, white-haired man, looking lovingly into his face, and 
wondering why his’ eye so watches the setting sun every night, 
as it sinks behind the blue waters in the distance. Two tall, 
handsome lads, with guns on their shoulders, enter the garden, 
and hasten to show the old man the fruits of their day’s ex- 
ploits. 

“We have been lucky to-day, grandfather,” says the 
younger ; but Alfred says these birds are not like the birds in 
old England.” 

“ You should hear the sailors ta^k about the game in Eng- 
land, Martin,” replies the brother. 

“ Grandfather has told us all about England, except the 
‘birds.’ He thinks we should run away, if he were to describe 
them.” 

The old man looks steadily at the boys for a moment, and 


824 


IHE OWE BLACK SPOT. 


his eyes fill with tears. “ It is a glorious land,” he says, with 
a faltering voice ; “ it is our country ; but, Alfred, Martin, you 
will never leave this happy home to go there. Birds there are 
the rich man’s property, and you would not dare carry those 
guns of yours over English ground. If ever you go there, youi* 
father will tell you where there is a church-yard— and among 
the graves of the poor, there is one ” 

He stopped, for Edward Harvey came to the place where his 
father sat, and took his trembling hand within his own ; the 
boys obeyed their mother’s signal, and followed her into the 
house ; the two men remained sitting together, until the silent 
stars came out. 

Then the aged man, leaning on his son’s arm, rejoined the 
family at the supper-table — and the peace of God rested on 
the solitary home. Edward Harvey, had faithfully kept within 
lis heart, the memory of his mother’s dying commands. 

Mart ‘a, his father, had nobly effaced the one Black Spot 


THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR. 


One morning, about five years ago, I called by appointment on 
Mr. John Balance, the fashionable pawnbroker, to accompany 
him to Liverpool, in pursuit of a Levanting customer — ^for 
Balance, in addition to pawning, does a little business in the 
sixty per cent. line. It rained in torrents when the cab stopped 
at the passage which leads past the pawning-boxes to his private 
door. The cabman rang twice, and at length Balance ap- 
peared, looming through the mist and rain in the entry, illumi- 
nated by his perpetual cigar. As I eyed him rather impatiently, 
remembering that train, wait for no man, something like a 
hairy dog, or a bundle ot rags, rose up at his feet, and barred 
his passage for a moment. Then Balance cried out with an 
exclamation, in answer apparently to a something I could not 
hear, “ What, man alive ! — slept in the passage ! — there, take 
thai, and get some breakfast, for Heaven’s sake !” So saying, 
he jumped into the “ Hansom,” and we bowled away at ten 
miles an hour, just catching the Express as the doors of the 
station were closing. My curiosity was full set — for although 
Balance can be free with his money, it is not exactly to beggars 
that his generosity is usually displayed ; so when comfortably 
ensconced in a coujpe I finished with — 

‘‘ You are liberal with your money this morning; pray, how 
oReq do you give silver to street-cadgers } — because I shall 


326 


THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR. 


know now what walk to take when flats and sharps leave off 
buying law.” 

Balance, who would have made an excellent parson if he had 
not been bred to a case-hardening trade, and has still a soft bit 
left in his heart that is always fighting with his hard head, did not 
smile at all, but looked as grim as if squeezing a lemon into his 
Saturday night’s punch. He answered slowly, “ A cadger — 
yes ; a beggar — a miserable wretch, he is now ; but, let me tell 
you. Master David, that that miserable bundle of rags was born 
and bred a gentleman — the son of a nobleman, the husband of 
an heiress, and has sat and dined at tables where you and I, 
Master David, are only allowed to view the plate by favor of 
the butler. I have lent him thousands, and been well paid. 
The last thing I had from him was his court-suit ; and I hold 
now his bill for one himdred pounds that will be paid, I expect, 
when he dies.” 

“ Why, what nonsense you are talking ! you must be dream- 
ing this morning. However, we are alone ; I’ll light a weed, in 
defiance of Railway-law, while you spin that yarn ; for, true or 
untrue, it will fill up the time to Liverpool.” 

‘‘ As for yarn,” replied Balance, “ the whole story is short 
enough ; and as for truth, that you may easily find out if you 
like to take the trouble. I thought the poor wretch was dead, 
and I own it put me out meeting him this morning, for I had a 
curious dream last night.” 

“Oh, hang your dreams ! Tell us about this gentleman 
beggar that bleeds you of half-crowns — that melts the heart 
even of a pawnbroker !” 

“ Well, then, that beggar is the illegitimate son of the late 
Marquis of Hoopborough by a Spanish lady of rank. He re- 
ceived a first rate education, and was brought up in his father’i 


THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR. 


32 ? 


house. At a very early age he obtained an appointment in a 
public office, was presented by the marquis at court, and re- 
ceived into the first society, where his handsome person and 
agreeable manners made him a great favorite. Soon after 
coming of age, he married the daughter of Sir E. Bumper, 
who brought him a very handsome fortune, which was strictly 
settled on herself. They lived in splendid style, kept several 
carriages, a house in town, and a place in the country. For 
some reason or other, idleness, or to please his lady’s pride he 
said, he resigned his appointment. His father died, and left 
him nothing ; indeed, he seemed at that time very handsomely 
provided for. 

“ Very soon Mr. and Mrs. Molinos Fitz-Roy began to disa- 
gree. She was cold, correct — he was hot and random. He 
was quite dependent on her, and she made him feel it. When 
he began to get into debt, he came to me. At length some 
shocking quarrel occurred — some case of jealousy on the wife’s 
side, not without reason, I believe ; and the end of it was, Mr. 
Fitz-Roy was turned out of doors. The house was his wife’s, 
the furniture was his wife’s, and the fortune was his wife’s — he 
was, in fact, her pensioner. He left with a few hundred pounds 
ready money, and some personal jewelry, and went to a, hotel. 
On these and credit he lived. Being illegitimate, he had no 
relations — being a fool, when he spent his money, he lost his 
friends. The world took his wife’s part, when they found she 
had the fortune, and the only parties who interfered were her 
relatives, who did their best to make the quarrel incurable. To 
crown all, one night he was run over by a cab, was carried to a 
hospital, and lay there for months, and was, during several 
weeks of the time, unconscious. A message to the wife, by 
the hands of one of his debauched companions, sent by a hu- 


28 


THE GENTLEMAN B G G A R . 


mane surgeon, obtained an intimation that ‘ if he died, Mr. 
Croak, the undertaker to the family, had orders to see to the 
funeral,’ and that Mrs. Molinos was on the point of starting 
for the Continent, not to return for some years. When Fitz- 
Roy was discharged, he came to me, limping on two sticks, to 
pawn his court-suit, and told me his story. I was really sorry 
for the fellow — such a handsome, thoroughbred-looking man. 
He was going then into the west somewhere, to try to hunt out 
a friend. ‘ What to do. Balance,’ he said, ‘ I don’t know. I 
can’t dig, and unless somebody will make me their game- 
keeper, I must starve, or beg, as my Jezebel bade me, when 
we parted !’ 

“ I lost sight of Molinos for a long time, and when I next 
came upon him it was in the Rookery of Westminster, in a low 
lodging-house, where I was searching with an officer for stolen 
goods. He was pointed out to me as the ‘ gentleman-cadger,* 
because he was so free with his money when ‘ in luck.’ He 
recognized me, but turned away then. I have since seen him, 
and relieved him more than once, although he never asks for 
anything. How he lives. Heaven knows. Without money, 
without friends, without useful education of any kind, he tramps 
the country, as you saw him, perhaps doing a little hop-picking 
or hay-making, in season, only happy when he obtains the means 
to get drunk. I have heard through the kitchen whispers that 
you know come to me, that he is entitled to some property ; and 
I expect if he were to die his wife would pay the hundred pound 
bill I hold ; at any rate, what I have told you I know to be true, 
and the bundle of rags I relieved just now is known in every 
thieves’ lodging in England as the ‘ gentleman cadger.’ ” 

This story produced an impression on me : I am fond of 
speculation, and like the excitement of a legal hunt as much 


THE OENTLEM N BEGGAR. 


329 


as some do a fox-chase. A gentleman, a beggar — a wife rolling 
in wealth — rumors of unknown property due to the husband ; — it 
seemed as if there were pickings for me amidst this carrion of 
pauperism. 

Before returning from Liverpool, I had purchased the gentle- 
man beggar’s acceptance from Balance. I then inserted in 
the “ Times” the following advertisement : “ Horatio Molinos 
Fitz-Roy . — If this gentleman will apply to David Discount, 
Esq., Solicitor, St. James’s, he will hear of something to his 
advantage. Any person furnishing Mr. F’s correct address, 
shall receive l5. reward. He was last seen,” &c. Within 
twenty-four hours I had ample proof of the wide circulation of 
the “ Times.” My office was besieged with beggars of every 
degree, men and women, lame and blind, Irish, Scotch, and 
English — some on crutches, some in bowls, some in go-carts. 
They all knew him as “ the gentleman,” and I must do the 
regular fraternity of tramps the justice to say, that not one 
would answer a question until he made certain that I meant 
the “ gentleman” no harm. 

One evening, about three weeks after the appearance of the 
advertisement, my clerk announced “ another beggar.” There 
came in an old man leaning upon a staff, clad in a soldier’s great- 
coat, all patched and torn, with a battered hat, from under which 
a mass of tangled hair fell over his shoulders and half concealed 
his face. The beggar, in a weak, wheezy, hesitating tone, said, 
“ You have advertized for Molinos Fitz-Roy. I hope you don’t 
mean him any harm ; he is sunk, I think, too low for enmity 
now ; and surely no one would sport with such misery as his.” 
These last words were uttered in a sort of piteous whisper.’ 

I answered quickly, “ Heaven forbid I should sport with 
misery — I mean and hope to do him good, as well as myself.” 


330 


THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR 


“ Then, sir, I am Molinos Fitz-Roy 

While we were conversing candles had been brought in. I 
have not very tender nerves — my head would not agree with 
them — but I own I started and shuddered when I saw and knew 
that the wretched creature before me was under thirty years of 
age, and once a gentleman. Sharp, aquiline features, reduced 
to literal skin and bone, were begrimed and covered with dry 
fair hair ; the white teeth of the half-open mouth chattered 
with eagerness, and made more hideous the foul pallor of the 
rest of the countenance. As he stood leaning on a staff half 
bent, his long, yellow bony fingers clasped over the crutch-head 
of his stick, he was indeed a picture of misery, famine, squalor, 
and premature age, too horrible to dwell upon. I made him sit 
down, sent for some refreshment which he devoured like a 
ghoul, and set to work to unravel his story. It was difficult to 
keep him to the point ; but with pains I learned what con 
vinced me that he was entitled to some property, whether great 
or small there was no evidence. On parting, I said, “Now, 
Mr. F., you must stay in town while I make proper inquiries. 
What allowance will be enough to keep you comfortably 

He answered humbly after much pressing, “ Would you 
think ten shillings too much 

I don’t like, if I do those things at all, to do them shabbily — 
so I said, “ Come every Saturday and you shall have a pound.” 
He was profuse in thanks, of course, as all such men are as long 
as distress lasts. 

I had previously learned that my ragged client’s wife was in 
England, living in a splendid house in Hyde Park Gardens, 
under’ her maiden name. On the following day the Earl of 
Owing called upon me, wanting five thousand pounds by five 
o’clock the same evening It was a case of life or death with 


THE GENTLEMAN BEOQAK. 


331 


him, so I made my terms and took advantage of his pressure to 
execute a coup de main. I proposed that he should drive me 
home to receive the money, calling at Mrs. Molinos in Hyde 
Park Gardens, on our way. I knew that the coronet and 
liveries of his father, the Marquis, would ensure me an audience 
with Mrs. Molinos Fitz-Roy. 

My scheme answered. I was introduced into the lady’s 
presence. She was, and probably is, a very stately, handsome 
woman, with a pale complexion, high solid forehead, regular 
features, thin, pinched, self-satisfied mouth. My interview was 
very short. I plunged into the middle of the affair, but had 
scarcely mentioned the word husband ^ when she interrupted me 
with, 1 presume you have lent this profiigate person money, 
and want me to pay you.” She paused, and then said, “ He 
shall not have a farthing.” As she spoke, 1 •'r white face 
became scarlet. 

“ But, Madam, the man is starving. I have strong reasons 
for believing he is entitled to property, and if you refuse any 
assistance, I must take other measures.” She rang the 
bell, wrote something rapidly on a card, and, as the footman 
appeared, pushed it towards me across the table, with the air 
of touching a toad, saying, “ There, sir, is the address of my 
solicitors ; apply to them if you think you have any claim. 
Robert, show the person out, and take care he is not admitted 
again.” 

So far I had effected nothing ; and, to tell the truth, felt 
rather crest-fallen under the influence of that grand manner 
peculiar to certain great ladies and to all great actresses. 

My next visit was to the attorneys, Messrs. Leasem and 
Fashun, of Lincoln’s Inn Square ; and there I was at home. I 
had Iiad dealings with the firm before. They are agents for 


332 


THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR. 


half the aristocracy, who always run in crowds like sheep af*ef 
the same wine-merchants, the same architects, the same horse- 
dealers, and the same law-agents. It may be doubted whether 
the quality of law and land management they get on this prin- 
ciple is quite equal to their wine and horses. At any rate, my 
friends of Lincoln’s Inn, like others of the same class, are dis- 
tinguished by their courteous manners, deliberate proceedings* 
innocence of legal technicalities, long credit and heavy charges. 
Leasem, the elder partner, wears powder and a huge bunch of 
seals, lives in Queen Square, drives a brougham, gives the 
dinners and does the cordial department. He is so strict in 
performing the latter duty, that he once addressed a poacher 
who had shot a Duke’s keeper, as “ my dear creature,” 
although he afterwards hung him. 

Fashun has chambers in St. James Street, drives a cab. 
wears a tip, and does the grand haha style. 

My business lay with Leasem. The interviews and letters 
passing were numerous. However, it came at last to the fol- 
lowing dialogue : — 

“ Well, my dear Mr. Discount,” began Mr. Leasem, who 
hates me like poison, “ I’m really very sorry for that poor dear 
Molinos — knew his father well ; a great man, a perfect gentle- 
man ; but you know what women are, eh, Mr. Discount ? My 
client won’t advance a shilling ; she knows it would onl^ be 
wasted in low dissipation. Now, don’t you think (this was said 
very insinuatingly) — don’t you think he had better be sent to 
the work-house ' very comfortable accommodation there, I can 
assure you — meat twice a week, and excellent soup ; and then, 
Mr. D., we might consider about allowing you something for 
that bill.” 

Mr. Leasem, can you reconcile it to your conscience to 


THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR. 


333 


make such an arrangement } Here’s a wife rolling in luxury, 
and a husband starving !” 

“ No, Mr. Discount, not starving ; there is the work -house, 
as I observed before ; besides, allow me to suggest that these 
appeals to feeling are quite unprofessional — quite unpro- 
fessional.” 

“ But, Mr. Leasem, touching this property which the poor 
man is entitled to 

“ Why, there again, Mr. D., you must excuse me ; you 
really must. I don’t say he is, I don’t say he is not. If you 
know he is entitled to property, I am sure you know how to 
proceed ; the law is open to you, Mr. Discount — the law is 
open ; and a man of your talent will know how to use it.” 

“ Then, Mr. Leasem, you mean that I must, in order to 
right this starving man, file a Bill of Discovery, to extract from 
you the particulars of his rights. You have the Marriage 
Settlement, and all the information, and you decline to allow a 
pension, or afford any information ; the man is to starve, or go 
to the work-house 

“ Why, Mr. D., you are so quick and violent, it really is not 
professional ; but you see, (here a subdued smile of triumph,) it 
has been decided that a solicitor is not bound to afibrd such in- 
formation as you ask, to the injury of his client.” 

“ Then you mean that this poor Molinos may rot and starve, 
while you keep secret from him, at his wife’s request, his title 
to an income, and that the Court of Chancery will back you in 
this iniquity 

I kept repeating the word “ starve,” because I saw it made 
my respectable opponent wince. “ Well, then, just listen to 
me : I know that in the happy state of our equity law. Chan- 
cery can’t help my client ; but I have another plan — -I shall go 


334 


THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR. 


hence to my office, issue a writ, and take your client’s husband 
in execution — as soon as he is lodged in jail, I shall file his 
schedule in the Insolvent Court, and when he comes up for his 
discharge, I shall put you in the witness-box, and examine you 
on oath, ‘ touching any property of which you know the in- 
solvent to be possessed,’ and where will be your privileged 
communications then 

The respectable Leasem’s face lengthened in a twinkling, 
his comfortable confident air vanished, he ceased twiddling his 
gold chain, and at length he muttered, “ Suppose we pay the 
debt 

“ Why, then, I’ll arrest him the day after for another.” 

“ But, my dear Mr. Discount, surely such conduct would not 
be quite respectable 

“ That’s my business ; my client has been wronged, I am 
determined to right him, and when the aristocratic firm of 
Leasam and Fashun takes refuge according to the custom ol 
respectable repudiators, in the cool arbors of the Court of 
Chancery, why, a mere bill-discounting attorney like David 
Discount, need not hesitate about cutting a bludgeon out of the 
Insolvent Court.” 

“ Well, well, Mr. D., you are so warm — so fiery ; we must 
deliberate, we must consult. You will give me until the day 
after to-morrow, and then we’ll write you our final determina- 
tion ; in the meantime, send us a copy of your authority to act 
for Mr. Molinos Fitz-Roy.” 

Of course I lost no time in getting the gentleman beggar to 
sign a proper letter. 

On the appointed day came a communication with the L. 
and F. seal, which I opened, not without unprofessional eager- 
ness. It was as follows : — 


THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR. 


335 


“ In re Molinos Fitz-Roy and Another. 

“ Sir, — In answer to your application on behalf of Mr 
Molinos Fitz-Roy, we beg to inform you that, under the adminis- 
tration of a paternal aunt who died intestate, your client is 
entitled to two thousand five hundred pounds eight shillings and 
sixpence, Three per Cents. ; one thousand five hundred pounds 
nineteen shillings and fourpence, Three per Cents., Reduced; 
one thousand pounds. Long Annuities ; five hundred pounds, 
Bank Stock ; three thousand five hundred pounds, India Stock, 
besides other securities, making up about ten thousand pounds, 
which we are prepared to transfer over to Mr. Molinos Fitz- 
Roy’s direction forthwith.” 

Here was a windfall ! It quite took away my breath. 

At dusk came my gentleman beggar, and what puzzled me 
was how to break the news to him. Being very much over- 
whelmed with business that day, I had not much time for con- 
sideration. He came in rather better dressed than when I first 
saw him, with only a week’s beard on his chin ; but, as usual, 
not quite sober. Six weeks had elapsed since our first inter- 
view. He was still the humble, trembling, low-voiced creature, 
I first knew him. 

After a prelude, I said, “ I find, Mr. F., you are entitled to 
something ; pray, what do you mean to give me in addition to 
my bill, for obtaining it He answered rapidly, “ Oh, take 
half ; if there is one hundred pounds, take half — ^if there is five 
hundred pounds, take half.” 

“ No, no ; Mr. F., I don’t do business in that way, I shall be 
satisfied with ten per cent.” 

It was so settled. I then led him cut into the street, im- 
pelled to tell him the news, yet dreading the effect ; not daring 

to make the revelation in my office, for fear of a scene. 

22 


THE GENTLEMAN B E G O A H . 



I began hesitatingly, “ Mr. Fitz-Roy, I am happy to say that 
I find you are entitled to ten thousand pounds !” 

“ Ten thousand pounds !’’ he echoed. “ Ten thousand 
pounds !” he shrieked. “ Ten thousand pounds !” he yelled ; 

seizing my arm violently. ‘‘ You are a brick Here, cab ! 

cab !” Several drove up — the shout might have been heard a 
mile oflf. He jumped in the first. 

“ Where to said the driver. 

“ To a tailor’s, you rascal !” 

“ Ten thousand pounds ! ha, ha, ha !” he repeated hys-' 
terically, when in the cab ; and every moment grasping my 
arm. Presently he subsided, looked me straight in the face, 
and muttered with agonizing fervor, “ What a jolly brick you 
are !” 

The tailor, the hosier, the boot-maker, the hair-dresser, 
were in turn visited by this poor pagan of externals. As by 
degrees under their hands he emerged from the beggar to the 
gentleman, his spirits rose ; his eyes brightened ; he walked 
erect, but always nervously grasping my arm — fearing, appa- 
rently, to lose sight of me for a moment, lest his fortune 
should vanish with me. The impatient pride with which he 
gave his orders to the astonished tradesman for the finest and 
best of everything, and the amazed air of the fashionable hair- 
dresser when he presented his matted locks and stubble 
chin, to be “ cut and shaved,” may be acted — it cannot be 
described. 

By the time the external transformation was complete, and I 
sat down in a Cafe in the Haymarket opposite a haggard but 
handsome thoroughbred-looking man, whose air, with the ex- 
ception of the wild eyes and deeply browned face, did not differ 
from the stereotyped mec about town sitting around us, Mr. 


THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR. 


337 


Molinos Fitz-Roy had already almost forgotten the past. He 
bullied the waiter, and criticised the wine, as if he had done 
nothing else hut dine and drink and scold there all the days of 
his life. 

Once he wished to drink my health, and would have pro- 
claimed his whole story to the coffee-room assembly, in a raving 
style. When I left he almost wept in terror at the idea of 
losing sight of me. But, allowing for these ebullitions — the 
natural result of such a whirl of events — he was wonderfully 
calm and self-possessed. 

The next day, his first care was to distribute fifty pounds 
among his friends, the cadgers, at a house of call” in Wes- 
minster, and formally to dissolve his connection with them ; 
those present undertaking for the “ fraternity,” that for the 
future he should never be noticed by them in public o; 
private. 

I cannot follow his career much further. Adversity had 
taught him nothing. He was soon again surrounded by the 
well-bred vampires who had forgotten him when penniless ; but 
they amused him, and that was enough. The ten thousand 
pounds were rapidly melting when he invited me to a grand 
dinner at Richmond, which included a dozen of the most agree- 
able, good-look'ng, well-dressed dandies of London, inter- 
spersed with a display of pretty butterfly bonnets. We dined 
deliciously, and drank as men do of iced wines in the dog-days 
—looking down from Richmond Hill. 

One of the pink-bonnets crowned Fitz-Roy with a wreath of 
flowers ; he looked — less the intellect — as handsome as Alci- 
biades. Intensely excited and flushed, he rose with a cham- 
pagne glass in his hand to propose ray health 

The oratorical powers of his father had not descended on 


338 


THE GENTLEMAN BEOOAK 


him. J erking out sentences by spasms, at length he said, “ I 

was a beggar — I am a gentleman — thanks to this ” 

Here he leaned on my shoulder heavily a moment, and then 
fell back. We raised him, loosened his neckcloth — 

“ Fainted !” said the ladies — 

“ Drunk !” said the gentlemen — 

He was dead I 


A FASHIONABLE FORGER. 

1 AM an attorney and a bill-discounter. As it is my vocation 
to lend money at high interest to extravagant people, my con- 
nection principally lies among “ fools,” sometimes among rogues 
“ of quality.” Mine is a pursuit which a prejudiced world 
either holds in sovereign contempt, or visits with envy, hatred, 
and all uncharitableness ; but to my mind, there are many call- 
ings, with finer names, that are no better. It gives me two 
things which I love — money and power ; but I cannot deny that 
it brings with it a bad name. The case lies between character 
and money, and involves a matter of taste. Some people like 
character ; I prefer money. If I am hated and despised, I 
chuckle over the ‘‘per contra.” I find it pleasant *for mem- 
bers of a proud aristocracy to condescend from their high es- 
tate to fawn, feign, flatter ; to affect even mirthful familiarity 
in order to gain my good-will. I am no Shylock. No client can 
accuse me of desiring either his flesh or his blood. Sentimental 
vengeance is no item in my stock in trade. Gold and bank-notea 
satisfy my “ rage ;” or, if need be, a good mortgage. Far from 
seeking revenge, the worst defaulter I ever had dealings with 
cannot deny that I am always willing to accept a good post-obit. 

I say again, I am daily brought in contact with all ranks of 
society, from the poverty-stricken patentee to the peer ; and I 
am no more surprised at receiving an application from a duchess 
than from a pet opera-dancer. In my ante room wait, at this 


340 


A FASHIONABLE JRGER. 


moment, a crowd of borrowers. Among the men, (beardless 
folly and mustachioed craft are most prominent,) there is a 
handsome young fellow, with an elaborate cane and wonderfully 
vacant countenance, who is anticipating in feeble follies, an estate 
that has been in the possession of his ancestors since the reign 
of Henry the Eighth — there is a hairy, high-nosed, broken- 
down nondescript, in appearance something between a horse- 
dealer and a pugilist. He is an old Etonian. Five years ago 
he drove his four-in-hand ; he is now waiting to beg a sovereign, 
having been just discharged from the Insolvent Court, for the 
second time. Among the women, a pretty actress, who, a few 
years since, looked forward to a supper of steak and onions, with 
bottled stout, on a Saturday night, as a great treat, now finds 
one hundred pounds a month insufficient to pay her wine mer- 
chant and her confectioner. I am obliged to deal with each 
case according to its peculiarities. Grenuine undeserved Ruin 
seldom knocks at my doer. Mine is a perpetual battle with 
people who imbibe trickery at the same rate as they dissolve 
their fortunes. I am a hard man, of course. I should not be 
fit for my pursuit if I were not ; but when, by a remote chance, 
honest misfortune pays me a visit, as Rothschilds amused him- 
self at times by giving a beggar a guinea, so I occasionally treat 
myself to the luxury of doing a kind action. My favorite sub- 
jects for this unnatural generosity, are the very young or the 
poor, innocent, helpless people, who are unfit for the war of 
life. Many among my clients (especially those tempered in 
the “ ice book” of fashion and high-life — polished and passsion- 
less) would be too much for me, if I had not made the face, the 
eye, the accent, as much my study as the mere legal and finan- 
cial points of discount To show what I mean, I will relate 
what happened to me not long since : — 


A FASttlONABLE FORGER. 


841 


Ono day, a middle-aged man in the usual costume of a West- 
End shopman, who had sent in his name as Mr. Axminster, 
was shown into my private room. After a little hesitation, he 
said, “ Although you do not know me, living at this end of the 
town,' I know you very well by reputation, and that you discount 
bills. I have a bill here which I want to get discounted. I 
am in the employ of Messrs. Russle and Smooth. The bill is 
drawn by one of our best customers, the Hon. Miss Snape, niece 
of Lord Blimley, and accepted by Major Munge, whom, no 
doubt, you know by name. She has dealt with us for some 
years — is very, very extravagant; but always pays.” He put 
the acceptance — which was for two hundred pounds — into my 
hands. 

I looked at it as scrutinizingly as I usually do at such paper 
The Major’s signature was fiimiliar to me ; but having succeeded 
to a great estate, he had long ceased to be a customer. I in- 
stantly detected a forgery ; by whom ? — was the question. 
Could it be the man before me ? Experience told me it was not 
Perhaps there was something in the expression of my counte- 
nance which Mr. Axminster did not like, for he said, “ It is 
good for the amount, I presume 

I replied, ‘‘ Pray, sir, from whom did you get this bill 

“ From Miss Snape herself” 

“ Have you circulated any other bills made by the same 
drawer .^” 

“ 0 yes !” said the draper, without hesitation ; “I have paid 
away a bill for one hundred pounds to Mr. Sparkle, the jewel- 
ler, to whom Miss Snape owed twenty pounds. They gave me 
the difference.” 

“ And how long has that bill to run now 

‘‘ About a fortnight.” 


342 


A FASHIONABLE FORGER. 


“ Did you indorse it ?” 

“ I did. Mr. Sparkle required me to do so, to show that the 
bill came properly into his possession.” 

“ This second bill, you say is urgently required* to enable 
Miss Snape to leave town 

“ Yes ; she is going to Brighton for the winter.” 

I gave Mr. Axminster a steady, piercing look of inquiry. 
“ Pray, sir,” I said, “ could you meet that one hundred pounds 
bill, supposing it could not be paid by the accepter .?” 

“ Meet it !” The poor fellow wiped from his forehead the 
perspiration which suddenly broke out at the bare hint of a 
probability that the bill would be dishonored — “ Meet it ? 0 

no ! I am a married man, with a family, and have nothing but 
my salary to depend on.” 

“ Then the sooner you get it taken up, and the less you have 
to do with Miss Snape’s bill affairs, the better.” 

“ She has always been punctual hitherto.” 

“ That may be.” I pointed to the cross-writing on the do- 
cument, and said deliberately, “ This bill is a forgery !” 

At these words the poor man turned pale. He snatched up 
the document, and with many incoherent protestations, was 
rushing toward the door, when I called to him in an authorita- 
tive tone, to stop. He paused — his manner indicating not only 
doubt, but fear. I said to him, “ Don’t flurry yourself ; I only 
want to serve you. You tell me that you are a married man, 
with children, dependent on daily labor for daily bread, and 
that you have done a little discounting for Miss Snape, out of your 
eajnings. Now, although I am a bill-discounter, I don’t like to 
see such men victimized. Look at the body of this bill — ^look at 
the signature of your lady-customer, the drawer. Don’t you de- 
tect the same fine, thin, sharp-pointed handwriting in the words. 


A FASmuNABLE FORGER. 


343 


‘ Accepted, Dymmock Munge. ” The man, convinced against his 
will, was at first overcome. When he recovered, he raved ; he 
would expose the Honorable Miss Snape, if it cost him his 
bread — he would go at once to the police office. I stopped 
him, by saying roughly, “ Don’t be a fool ! Any such steps 
would seal your ruin. Take my advice ; return the bill to 
the lady, saying, simply, that you cannot get it discounted. 
Leave the rest to me, and I think the bill you have indorsed 
to Sparkle will be paid.” Comforted by this assurance. Ax- 
minster, fearfully changed from the nervous, but smug, hopeful 
man of the morning, departed. It now remained for me to 
exert what skill I possessed, to bring about the desired result. 
I lost no time in writing a letter to the Honorable Mio? Snape, 
of which the following is a copy : — 

“ Madam, — A bill, purporting to be drawn by you, has been 
offered to me for discount. There is something wrong about it , 
and, though a stranger to you, I advise yoM to lose no time in 
getting it back into your own hands. — D. D.” 

I intended to deal with the affair (juietly, and without anj 
view to profit. The fact is, that I was sorry — ^you may laugh — 
but I really was sorry to think that a young girl might have 
given way to temptation under pressure -of pecuniary difficulties. 
If it had been a man’s case, I doubt whether I should have in- 
terfered. By the return of post, a lady’s maid entered my 
room, profusely decorated with ringlets, lace, and perfumed 
with •patchouli. She brought a letter from her mistress. It 
ran thus : — 

“ Sir, — I cannot sufficiently express my thanks for your kind- 
ness in writing to me on the subject of the bills, of which I had 


344 


A FASHIONABLE FORGER. 


also heard a few hours previously. As a perfect stranger to 
you, I cannot estimate your kind consideration at too high a 
value. I trust the matter will be explained ; but I should 
much like to see you. If you would be kind enough to write a 
note as soon as you receive this, I will order it to he sent to 
me at once to Tyburn Square. I will wait on you at any hour 
Qn Friday you may appoint. I believe that I am not mistaken 
in supposing that you transact business for my friend. Sir John 
Markham, and you will therefore know the inclosed to be his 
handwriting. Again thanking you most gratefully, allow me to 
remain your much and deeply obliged, Juliana Snape.” 

This note was written upon delicate French paper embossed 
with a coat of arms. It was in a fancy envelope — the whole 
richly perfumed, and redolent of rank and fashion. Its contents 
were an implied confession of forgery. Silence, or three lines 
of indignation, would have been the only innocent answer tc 
my letter. But Miss Snape thanked me. She let me know, 
by implication that she was on intimate terms with a name 
good on a West-End bill. My answer was, that I should be 
alone on the following afternoon at five. 

At the hour fixed, punctual to a moment, a brougham drew 
up at the corner of the street next to my chambers. The 
Honorable Miss Snape ’s card was handed in. Presently, she 
entered, swimming into my room, richly, yet simply dressed in 
the extreme of Parisian good taste. She was pale — or rather 
colorless. She had fair hair, fine teeth, and a fashionable voice. 
She threw herself gracefully into the chair I handed to her, 
and began by uncoiling a string of phrases, to the effect that her 
visit was merely to consult me on “ unavoidable pecuniary dif 
ficulties.” 


A PASHrONABLE FORGER. 


345 


According to my mode, I allowed her to talk ; putting in only 
an occas-ional word of question that seemed rather a random 
observation than a significant query. At length after walking 
round and round the subject, like a timid horse in a field around 
fi groom with a sieve of oats, she came nearer and nearer the 
subject. When she had fairly approached the point, she stopped, 
as if her courage had failed her. But she soon recovered, and 
observed, I cannot think why you should take the trouble to 
write so to me, a perfect stranger.” Another pause — ‘‘ I won- 
der no one ever suspected me before.” 

Here was a confession and a key to character. The cold gray 
eye, the thin compressed lips, which T had had time to observe, 
were true indexes to the “ lady’s inner heart selfish calculating, 
utterly devoid of conscience ; unable to conceive the existence of 
spontaneous kindness ; utterly indifferent to anything except dis- 
covery, and almost indifferent to that, because convinced that no 
serious consequences could affect a lady of her rank and influence. 

“ Madam,” I replied, “ as long as you dealt with tradesmen 
accustomed to depend on aristocratic customers, your rank and 
position, and their large profits, protected you from suspicion ; 
but you have made a mistake in descending from your vantage 
ground to make a poor shopman your innocent accomplice — a 
man who will be keenly alive to anything that may injure his 
wife or children. His terrors — but for my interposition — would 
have ruined you utterly. Tell me, how many of these things 
have you put afloat .?” 

She seemed a little taken a-back by this speech, but wa!^ 
wonderfully firm. She passed her white, jewelled hand ovei 
her eyes, seemed calculating, and then whispered, with a con- 
fiding look of innocent helplessness, admirably assumed, “ About 
as many as amount to twelve hundred pounds.” 


346 


A FASHIONABLE FORGER. 


“ And what means have you for meeting them ?” 

At this question so plainly put, her face flushed. She half 
rose from her chair, and exclaimed in the true tone of aristo- 
craitic hautmr^ “ Really, sir, I do not know what right you 
nave to ask me that question.” 

I laughed a little, though not very loud. It was rude, I 
own ; but who could have helped it } I replied, speaking low, 
but slowly and distinctly — “ You forget. I did not send for 
you ; you came to me. You have forged bills to the amount 
of twelve hundred pounds. Yours is not the case of a ruined 
merchant or an ignorant over-tempted clerk. In your case a 
jury” — (she shuddered at that word) — “ would And no extenu- 
ating circumstances ; and if you should fall into the hands of 
justice you will be convicted, degraded, clothed in a prison- 
dress, and transported for life. I do not want to speak harshly ; 
but I insist that you find means to take up the bill which Mr. 
Axminster has so unwittingly indorsed !” 

The Honorable Miss Snape’s grand manner melted away. 
She wept. She seized and pressed my hand. She cast up her 
eyes, full of tears, and went through the part of a repentant 
victim with great fervor. She would do anything — anything in 
the world to save the poor man. Indeed, she had intended to 
appropriate part of the two hundred pound bill to that purpose. 
She forgot her first statement, that she wanted the money to go 
out of town. Without interrupting, I let her go on and de- 
grade herself by a simulated passion of repentance, regret, and 
thankfulness to me, under which she hid her fear and her mor- 
tification at being detected. I at length put an end to a scene 
of admirable acting, by recommending her to go abroad imme- 
diately, to place herself out of reach of any sudden discovery ; 
and then lay her case fully before her friends, who would n© 


347 


A FASHIONABLE FORGER. 

doubt feel bound to come forward with the full amount of the 
forged bills. “ But,” she exclaimed, with an entreating air, “ I 
have no money ; I cannot g» without money !” To that ob- 
servation I did not respond although I am sure she expected 
that I should, check-book in hand, offer her a loan. I do not 
say so without reason ; for, the very next week, this honorable 
young lady cami again, and, with sublime assurance and a 
number of very charming, winning speeches, (which might ha re 
had their effect upon a younger man), asked me to lend her one 
hundred pounds, in order that she might take the advice I had 
so obligingly given her, and retire into private life for a certain 
time in the country. I do meet with a great many impudent 
people in the course of my calling — I am not very deficient in 
assurance myself — but this actually took away my breath. 

“ Really, madam,” I answered, “ you pay a very ill-compli- 
ment to my gray hairs, and would fain make me a very ill re- 
turn for the service I have done you, when you ask me to lend 
a hundred pounds to a young lady who owns to having forged to 
the extent of one thousand two hundred pounds, and to owing 
eight hundred pounds besides. I wished to save a personage of 
your years and position from a disgraceful career ; but I am too 
good a trustee for my children to lend money to anybody in such 
a dangerous position as yourself.” 

“ Oh !” she answered, quite unabashed, without a trace of the 
fearful, tender pleading of the previous week’s interview — quite as 
if I had been an accomplice, “ I can give you excellent security.” 

“ That alters the case ; I can lend any amount on good se- 
curity.” 

“ Well, sir, I can get the acceptance of three friends of ample 
means ” 

“ Do you mean to tell me, Miss Snape, that you will write 


348 


A fASHIONAB:. E FORGER. 


down the names of three parties who will accept a bill for one 
hundred pounds for you 

Yes, she could, and did actually write down the names of 
three distiiguished men. Now I knew for certain, that not one 
of those noblemen would have put his name to a bill on any ac- 
count whatever for his dearest friend ; but, in her unabashed 
self-confidence, she thought of passing another forgery on tm. 
I dosed the conference by saying, “ I cannot assist you and 
she retired with the air of an injured person. In the course of 
i few days, I heard from Mr. Axminster, tfiat his liability of 
one hundred pounds had been duly honored. 

In my active and exciting life, one day extinguishes the re- 
collection of the events of the preceding day ; and, for a time, 
I thought no more about the fashionable forger. I had taken 
it for granted that, heartily frightened, although not repenting, 
she had paused in her felonious pursuits. 

My business one day led me to the establishment of one of 
the most wealthy and respectable legal firms in the city, where 
I am well known, and, I believe, vahied ; for at all times I am 
most politely, I may say, most cordially received. Mutual 
profits create a wonderful freemasonry between those who have 
not any other sympathy or sentiment. Politics, religion, mo- 
rality, diflerence of rank, are all equalized and republieanized 
by the division of an account. No sooner had I entered the 
mnctum^ than the senior partner, Mr Precepts, began to quii 
his junior, Mr. Jones, with, “ Well, Tones must never joke 
friend Discount any more about usury. Just imagine,” he con- 
tinued, addressing me, “ Jones has himself been discounting a 
bill for a lady ; and a deuced pretty one too. He sat next her 
at dinner in Grosvenor Square, last week. Next day she gave 
him a call here, and he could not reftise her extraordinary re- 


A FASHIONABLE FORGER. 


349 


quest. Gad, it is hardly fair for Jones to be poaching on your 
domains of West-End paper !” 

Mr. Jones smiled quietly, as he observed, “ Why, you see, 
she is the niece of one of our best clients ; and really I was so 
taken by surprise, that I did not know how to refuse.” 

“ Pray,” said I, interrupting his excuses, “ does your young 
lady’s name begin with S. ^ Has she not a very pale face, and 
cold gray eye .?” 

The partners stared. 

“ Ah ! I see it is so ; and can at once tell you that the bill 
is not worth a rush.” • 

“ Why, you don’t mean .?” 

“ I mean simply that the acceptance is. I’ll lay you a wager, 
a forgery.” 

“ A forgery !” 

“ A forgery,” I repeated as distinctly as possible. 

Mr. Jones hastily, and with broken ejaculations, called foi 
the cash-box. With trembling hands he took out the bill, and 
followed my finger with eager, watchful eyes, as I pointed out 
the proofs of my assertion. A long pause was broken by my 
mocking laugh ; for, at the moment, my sense of politeness 
could not restrain my satisfaction at the signal defeat which had 
attended the first experiment of these highly respectable gentle- 
men in the science of usury. 

The partners did not have recourse to the police. They did 
not propose a consultation with either Mr. Forrester or Mr. 
Field ; but they took certain steps, under my recommendation ; 
the result of which was that at an early day, an aunt of the 
Honorable Miss Snape was driven, to save so near a connection 
from transportation, to sell out some fourteen hundred pounds 
Qf stock, and all the forgeries were taken up. 


350 


A FASHIONABLE FORGER. 


One would have thought that the lady who had thus so nar - 
rowly escaped, had had enough — but forgery, like opium-eating., 
is one of those charming vices which is never abandoned, when 
once adopted. The forger enjoys not only the pleasure of ob- 
taining money so easily, but the triumph of befooling sharp men 
of the world. Dexterous penmanship is a source of the same 
sort of pride as that which animates the skillful rifleman, the 
practiced duellist, or well-trained billiard-player. With a clean 
Grillott he fetches down a capitalist, at three or six months, for a 
cool hundred or a round thousand ; just as a Scrope drops over a 
stag ^t ten, or a Grordon Gumming a monstrous male elephant 
at a hundred paces. 

Ab I before observed, my connection especially lies among 
the improvident — among those who will be ruined — who are 
being ruined — and who have been ruined. To the last class be- 
longs Francis Fisherton, once a gentleman, now without a shil- 
ling or a principle ; but rich in mother-wit — in fact, a farceur^ 
after Paul de Kock’s own heart. Having in by-gone days 
been one of my willing victims, he occasionally flnds pleasure 
and profit in guiding others through the gate he frequented, as 
long as able to pay the tolls. In truth, he is what is called a 
“ discount agent.” 

One day I received a note from him, to say that he would 
call on me at three o’clock the next day to introduce a lady of 
fqimily, who wanted a bill ‘‘ done” for one hundred pounds. So 
ordinary a transaction merely needed a memorandum in my 
diary, “ Tuesday, 3 p.m. ; F. F., iSlOO Bill.” The hour came 
and passed ; but no Frank, which was strange — because every 
one must have observed, that, however dilatory people are in 
paying, they are wonderfully punctual when they expect to re- 
ceive money. 


A FV8HI0NABLE FORGER. 


351 


At five o’clock, in rushed my Jackall. His story, disen- 
tangled from oaths and ejaculations, amounted to this ; — In an- 
swer to one of the advertisements he occasionally addresses “ To 
the Embarrassed,” in the columns of the “ Times,” he received 
a note from a lady, who said she was anxious to get a “ bill 
done” — the acceptance of a well-known man of rank and 
fashion. A correspondence was opened, and an appointment 
made. At the hour fixed, neatly shaved, brushed, gloved, 
booted — the revival, in short, of that high-bred Frank Fisher- 
ton who was so famous 

“ In his hot youth, when Crockford’s was the thing,” 

glowing with only one glass of brandy, “just to steady his 
nerves,” he met the lady at a West-End pastry-cook’s. 

After a few words (for all the material questions had been 
settled by correpondence) she stepped into a brougham, and 
invited Frank to take a seat beside her. Elated with a compli- 
ment of late years so rare, he commenced planning the orgies 
which were to reward him for weeks of enforced fasting, when 
the coachman, reverentially touching his hat, looked down from 
his seat for orders. • 

“ To ninety-nine, George Street, St. James,” cried Fisher- 
ton, in his loudest tones. 

In an instant the youne lady’s pale face changed to scarlet, 
and then to ghastly green. In a whisper, rising to a scream, 
she exclaimed, Good heavens ! you do not mean to go to that 
man’s house,” (meaning me.) “ Indeed, I cannot go to himr 
on any account ; he is a most horrid man, I am told, and charges 
most extravagantly.” 

“ Madam,” answered Frank, in great perturbation, “ I beg 
your pardon, but you have been grossly misinformed. I have 


352 


A FASHIONABLE fOKOER 


known that excellent man these twenty years, and have paid 
him hundreds on hundreds ; but never so much by ten per cent, 
as you offered me for discounting 3’our bill.” 

“ Sir, I cannot have anything to do with your frie'^d.” 
Then, violently, pulling the check-string, “ Stop,” she gasped, 
“ and u'ill you have the goodness to get out 

“ And so I got out,” continued Fisherton, “ and lost my 
time ; and the heavy investment I made in getting myself up 
for the a.ssignation — new primrose gloves, and a shilling to the 
hair-dresser — hang her ! But, did you ever know anything 
like the prejudices that must prevail against you ? I am dis- 
gusted with human nature. Could you lend me half a sovereign 
till Saturday ?” 

I smiled ; I sacrified the half sovereign, and let him go, for 
he is not exactly the person to whom it was advisable to intrust 
all the secrets relating to the Honorable Miss Snape. Since 
that day I look each morning in the police reports with con- 
siderable interest ; but, up to the present hour, the Honorable 
Miss Snape has lived and thrived in the best society. 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE. 

Antoine de Chaulieu was the son of a poor gentlemai 
of Normandy, with a long genealogy, a short rent-roll, and 
large family. Jacques Rollet was the son of a brewer, whr 
did not know who his grandfather was ; but he had a lono 
purse and only two children. As these youths flourished in 
the early days of liberty, equality, and fraternity, and were 
ucar neighbors, they naturally hated each other. Their en- 
mity commenced at school, where the delicate and refined De 
Chaulieu, being the only gentilhomme among the scholars, wa.?. 
the favorite of the master, (who was a bit of an aristocrat in 
liis heart,) although he was about the worst dressed boy in the 
establishment, and never had a sou to spend ; while Jacquea 
Rollet, sturdy and rough, with smart clothes and plenty of 
money, got flogged six days in the week, ostensibly for being 
stupid and not learning his lessons, — which, indeed, he did not, 
— but, in reality, for constantly quarrelling with and insulting 
De Chaulieu, who had not strength to cope with him. When 
they left the academy, the feud continued in all its vigor, and 
was fostered by a thousand little circumstances arising out of 
the state of the times, till a separation ensued in consequence 
of an aunt of Antoine de Chaulieu’s undertaking the expense 
of sending him to Paris to study the law, and of maintaining 
him there during the necessary period. 


354 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE 


With the progress of events came some degree of reaction 
in favor of birth and nobility, and then Antoine, who had 
passed for the bar, began to hold up his head and endeavored 
to push his fortunes ; but fate seemed against him. He felt 
certain that if he possessed any gift in the world it was that 
of elequence, but he could get no cause to plead : and his aunt 
dying inopportunely, first his resources failed, and then hie 
health. He had no sooner returned to his home, than, to com- 
plicate his difficulties completely, he fell in love with Made- 
moiselle Natalie de Bellefonds, who had just returned from 
Paris, where she had been completing her education. To 
expatiate on the perfections of Mademoiselle Natalie would be 
a waste of ink and paper ; it is sufficient to say that she really 
was a very charming girl, with a fortune which, though not 
large, would have been a most desirable acquisition to De 
Chaulieu, who had nothing. Neither was the fair Natalie 
indisposed to listen to his addresses ; but her father could not 
be expected to countenance the suit of a gentleman, however 
well born, who had not a ten-sous piece in the world, and whose 
prospects were a blank. 

While the ambitious and lovesick young barrister was thus 
pining in unwelcome obscurity, his old acquaintance, Jacques 
Rollet, had been acquiring an undesirable notoriety. There 
was nothing really bad in Jacques’ disposition, but having been 
bred up a democrat, with a hatred of the nobility, he could 
not easily accommodate his rough humor to treat them with 
civility when it was no longer safe to insult them. The liber- 
ties he allowed himself whenever circumstances brought him 
into contact with the higher classes of society, had led him 
into many scrapes, out of which his father’s money had one 
way or another released him ; but that source of safety had 


THE TOUNG ADVOCATE. 


855 


now failed. Old Rollet, having been too busy with the affairs 
of the nation to attend to his business, had died insolvent, leav- 
ing his son with nothing but his own wits to help him out of 
future difficulties, and it was not long before their exercise was 
called for. Claudine Rollet, his sister, who was a very pretty 
girl, had attracted the attention of Mademoiselle de Bellefonds* 
brother, Alphonse ; and as he paid her more attention than 
from such a quarter was agreeable to Jacques, the young men 
had more than one quarrel on the subject, on which occasions 
they had each, characteristically, given vent to their enmity, 
the one in contemptuous monosyllables, and the other in a vol- 
ley of insulting words. But Claudine had another lover more 
nearly of her own condition of life ; this was Claperon, the 
deputy-governor of the Rouen jail, with whom she made ac- 
quaintance during one or two compulsory visits paid by her 
brother to that functionary ; but Claudine, who was a bit of a 
coquette, though she did not altogether reject his suit, gave 
him little encouragement, so that betwixt hopes and fears, and 
doubts and jealousies, poor Claperon led a very uneasy kind 
of life. 

Affairs had been for some time in this position, when, one 
tine morning, Alphonse de Bellefonds was not to be found in 
his chamber when his servant went to call him ; neither had 
his bed been slept in. He had been observed to go out rather 
late on the preceding evening, but whether or not he had 
returned, nobody could tell. He had not appeared at supper, 
but that was too ordinary an event to awaken suspicion ; and 
little alarm was excited till several hours had elapsed, when 
inquiries were instituted and a s(?arch commenced, which ter- 
minated in the discovery of his body, a good deal mangled, 
lying at the bottom of a poinl which isad belonged to the old 


356 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE. 


brewery. Before any investigations liad been made, every 
person had jumped to the conclusion tliat the young man had 
been murdered, and that Jacques Rollet was the assassin. 
There was a strong presumption in favor of that opinion, which 
further perquisitions tended to confirm. Only the day before, 
Jacques had been heard to threaten M. de Bellefonds with 
speedy vengeance. "On the fatal evening, Alphonse and Clau- 
dine had been seen together in the neighborhood of the now 
dismantled brewery ; and as Jacques, betwixt poverty and de- 
mocracy, was in bad odor with the prudent and respectable 
part of society, it was not easy for him to bring witnesses to 
character, or prove an unexceptionable alibi. As for the 
Belleforids and De Chaulieus, and the aristocracy in general, 
they entertained no doubt of his guilt ; and finally, the magis- 
trates coming to the same opinion, Jacques Rollet was com- 
mitted for trial, and as a testimony of good will Antoine de 
Chaulieu was selected by the injured family to conduct the 
prosecution. 

Here, at last, was the opportunity he had sighed for ! So 
interesting a case, too, furnishing such ample occasion for pas- 
sion, pathos, indignation ! And how eminently fortunate that 
the speech which he set himself with ardor to prepare, would 
be delivered in the presence of the father and brother of his 
mistress, and perhaps of the lady herself! The evidence 
against Jacques, it is true, was altogether presumptive ; there 
was no proof whatever that he had committed the crime ; and 
for his own part he stoutly denied it. But Antoine de Chau- 
lieu entertained no doubt of his guilt, and his speech was cer- 
tainly well calculated to carry conviction into the bosom of 
others. It was of the highest importance to his own reputa- 
tion that he should procure a verdict, and he confidently 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE 


357 


tissured the afilieted and enraged family of liie victim that tlieir 
vengeance should be satisfied. Under tliese circumstances- 
could any thing be more unwelcome than a piece of intelligence 
that was privately conveyed to him late on the evening before 
the trial was to come on, which tended strongly to exculpate 
the prisoner, without indicating any other person as the crimi- 
nal ? Here wais an opportunity lost. The first step of the 
ladder on which he was to rise to fame, fortune, and a wife, 
was slipping from under his feet ! 

Of course, so interesting a trial was anticipated with great 
eagerness by the public, and the court was crowded with all 
the beauty and fashion of Rouen. Though Jacques Rollet 
persisted in asserting his innocence, founding his defence chiefly 
on circumstances which were strongly corroborated by tin? 
information that had reached De Chaulieu the preceding even- 
ing, he was convicted. 

In spite of the fery strong doubts he privately entertained 
respecting the justice of the verdict, even De Chaulieu him- 
self, in the first flush of success, amid a crowd of congratulat- 
ing friends, and the approving smiles of his mistress, felt grat- 
ified and happy ; his speech had, for the time being, not only 
convinced others, but himself ; warmed with his own eloquence, 
he believed what he said. But when the glow was over, and 
he found himself alone, he did not feel so coinfortable. A 
latent doubt of Rollet’s guilt now burnt strongly in his mind, 
and he lelt that the blood of tlie innocent would be on his 
bead. It is true there was yet time to save the life of the 
prisoner; but to admit Jacques innocent was to take the glory 
out of his own speech, and turn the sting of his argument 
against himself. Besides, if he produced the witness who had 
secretly given him the information, he should be self-eon- 


3o8 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE. 


demned, for he could not conceal that he had been aware of 
the circumstance before the trial. 

Matters having gone so far, therefore, it was necessary that 
Jacques Rollet should die ; so the affair took its course ; and 
early one morning the guillotine was erected in the court yard of 
the jail, three criminals ascended the scaffold, and three heads 
fell into the basket which were presently afterwards, with the 
trunks that had been attached to them, buried in a corner of 
the cemetery. 

Antoine de Chaulieu was now fairly started in his career, 
and his success was as rapid as the first step towards it had 
been tardy. He took a pretty apartment in the Hotel de Mar- 
boeuf. Rue Grange-Bateliere, and in a short time was looked 
upon as one of the most rising young advocates in Paris. His 
success in one line brought him success in another ; he was 
soon a favorite in society, and an object of interest to specu- 
lating mothers ; but bis affections still adhered to his old love, 
Natalie de Bellefonds, whose family now gave their assent to 
the match, — at least, prospectively, — a circumstance which 
furnished such an additional incentive to his exertions, that in 
about two years from the date of his first brilliant speech, he 
was in a sufficiently flourishing condition to offer the young 
lady a suitable home. In anticipation of the happy event, he 
engaged and furnished a suit of apartments in the Rue du 
Helde"; and as it was necessary that the bride should come to 
Paris to provide her trousseau, it was agreed that the wedding 
should take place there, instead of at Bellefonds, as had been 
first projected — an arrangement the more desirable, that a 
press of business rendered M. de Chaulieu’s absence from 
Paris inconvenient. 

Brides and bridegrooms in P" ranee, except of the very high 
ela.sse^, are not mncli in the habit of jiiaking those honey- 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE. 


359 


mooD excursions so universal in this countiy. A day spent 
in visiting Versailles, or St. Cloud, or even the public places 
of the city, is generally all that precedes the settling down into 
the habits of daily life. In the present instance, St. Denis was 
selected, from the circumstance of Natalie having a younger 
sister at school there, and also because she had a particular 
desire to see the abbey. 

The wedding was to take place on a Thursday ; and on the 
Wednesday evening, having spent some hours most agreeably 
with Natalie, Antoine de Chaulieu 'returned to spend his last 
night ill his bachelor apartments. His wardrobe and other 
small possessions had already been packed up and sent to his 
future home ; and there was nothing left in his room now but 
his new wedding suit, which he inspected with considerable 
satisfaction before he undressed and lay down to sleep. Sleep, 
however, was somewhat slow to visit him ; and the clock had 
struck one before he closed his eyes. When he opened them 
again, it was broad daylight ; and his first thought was, had 
he overslept himself? He sat up in bed to look at the clock, 
which was exactly opposite ; and as he did so, in the large mir- 
ror over the fireplace he perceived a figure standing behind 
him. As the dilated eyes met his own, he saw it was the face 
of Jacques Rollet. Overcome with horror, he sank back on 
his pillow, and it was some minutes before he ventured to look 
again in that direction ; when he did so, the figure had disap- 
peared. 

The sudden revulsion of feeling such a vision was calculated 
to occasion in a man elate with joy, may be conceived. For 
some time after the death of his former foe, he had jeen 
visited by not unfrequent twinges of conscience ; but of late, 
borne along by success, and the huriy of Parisian life, these 


360 


T H K YOUNG A D V O C A 1' E . 


unpleasant remembrances had grown i-;ii-(‘r, till at length they 
had faded away altogether. Xolli.ng had been furlher from 
his thoughts than .Jacques Rollet, when he closed his eyes on 
the preceding night, nor when he opened them to that sun 
which was to shine on what he expected to be the happiest 
day of his life. Where were the high-strung nerves now? 
the elastic frame ? the bounding heart ? 

Heavily and slowly he arose from his bed, for it was time 
to do so ; and with a trembling hand and quivering knees, he 
went through the processes of the toilet, gashing his cheek with 
the razor, and spilling the water over his well-polished boots. 
When he was dressed, scarcely venturing to cast a glance in ti e 
mirror as he passed it, he quitted the room, and descended the 
stairs, taking the key of the door with him for the purpose of 
leaving it with the porter : the man, however, being absent, he 
laid it on the table in his lodge, and with a relaxed and languid 
step proceeded on his way to the church, w'here presently 
arrived the fair Natalie and her friends. How diilicult it Wiis 
now to look happy with that pallid face and extinguished eye ! 

“ How pale you are ! Has any thing happened ? You are 
surely ill,” were the exclamations that met him on all sides. 
He tried to carry it off as well as he could, but felt that the 
movements he would have wished to appear alert were only 
convulsive, and that the smiles with which he attempted to relax 
his features were but distorted grimaces. ^However, the 
church was not the [dace for further inquiries; and while 
Natalie gently [U'essed his hand in token of sympathy, they 
advanced to the altar, and the ceremony was performed ; after 
which they stepped into the carriages waiting at the door, and 
drove to the apartments of Madame de Bellefonds, where an 
elegant dejeuner was prepared. 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE. 


361 


“What ails you, my dear husband?” inquired Natalie, as- 
soon as they were alone. 

“ Nothing, love,” he replied ; “ nothing, I assure you, but a 
restless night and a little overwork, in order that I might have 
to-day free to enjoy my happiness.” 

“ Are you quite sure ? Is there nothing else ? ” 

“ Nothing, indeed ; and pray don’t take notice of it ; it only 
makes me worse.” 

Natalie was not deceived, but she saw that what he said 
was true ; notice made him worse ; so she contented herself 
with observing him quietly, and saying nothing ; but, as he felt 
she was observing him, she might almost better have spoken ; 
words are often less embarrassing things than too curious eyes. 

When they reached Madame de Bellefond’s he had the same 
sort of questioning and scrutiny to undergo, till he grew quite 
impatient under it, and betrayed a degree of temper altogether 
uqusual with him. Then every body looked astonished ; some 
whispered their remarks, and others expressed them by their 
wondering eyes, till his brow knit, and his pallid cheeks be- 
came flushed with anger. Neither could he divert attention 
by eating; his parched mouth would not allow him to swallow 
any thing but liquids, of which, however, he indulged in copi- 
ous libations ; and it was an exceeding relief to him when the 
carriage, Avhich was to convey them to St. Denis, being an- 
nounced, furnished an excuse for hastily leaving the table. 
Looking at his watch, he declared it was late; and Natalie^ 
who saw how eager he was to be gone, threw her shawl over 
her shoulders, and bidding her friends good morning^ they 
hurried away. 

It was a fine sunny day in June ; and as they drove along 
the crowded boulevards, and through the Porte St. Denis, the 


562 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE. 


young bride and bridegroom, to avoid eacli other’s eyes, affected 
to be gazing out of the windows ; but when they reached the 
part of the road where there was nothing but trees on each 
side, they felt it necessary to draw in their lieads, and make 
an attempt at conversation, De Chaulieu put his arm round 
his wife’s waist, and tried to rouse himself from his depres- 
sion ; but it had by this time so reacted upon her, that she 
could not respond to his efforts, and thus the conversation lan- 
guished, till both felt glad when they reached their destination, 
w'hich would, at all events, furnish them something to talk 
about. 

Having quitted the carriage, and ordered a dinner at the 
Hotel de I’Abbaye, the young couple proceeded to visit Made- 
moiselle Hortense de Bellefonds, who was overjoyed to see her 
sister and new brother-in-law, and doubly so when she found 
that they had obtained permission to take her out to spend 
the afternoon with them. As (!iere is little to be seen at St. 
Denis but the Abbey, on quitting that part of it devoted to 
education, they proceeded to visit the church, with its various 
objects of interest; and as De Chaulieu’s thoughts were now 
forced into another direction, his cheerfulness began insensibly 
to return. Natalie looked so beautiful, too, and the affection 
betwixt the two young sisters was so pleasant to behold ! And 
they spent a couple of hours wandering about with Hortense, 
who was almost as well informed as the Suisse, till the brazen 
doors were opened which admitted them to the Royal vault. 
Satisfied, at length, with what they had seen, they began to 
think of returning to the inn, the more especially as De Chau- 
lieu, who had not eaten a morsel of food since the previous 
■evening, owned to being hungry; so they directed theii- steps 
to ilic door, lingering here and there as they went, to inspect 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE. 


363 


a monument or a painting, when, happening to turn his head 
aside to see if his wife, who had stopped to take a last look 
at the tomb of King Dagobert, was following, he beheld with 
horror the face of Jacques Rollet appearing from behind a 
column ! At the same instant his wife joined him, and tock 
his arm, inquiring if he was not very much delighted with 
what he had seen. He attempted to say yes, but the word 
would not be forced out ; and staggering out of the door, he 
alleged that a sudden faintness had overcome him. 

They conducted him to the Hotel, but Natalie now became 
seriously alarmed ; and well she might. His complexion 
looked ghastly, his limbs shook, and his features bore an ex- 
pression of indescribable horror and anguish. What could be 
the meaning of so extraordinary a change in the gay, witty, 
prosperous De Chaulieu, who, till that morning, seemed not 
to have a care in the world? For, plead illness as he might, 
she felt certain, from the expression of his features, that his 
sufferings were not of the body but of the mind ; and, unable 
to imagine any reason for such extraordinary manifestations, 
of which she had never before seen a symptom, but a sudden 
aversion to herself, and regret for the step he had taken, her 
pride took the alarm, and, concealing the distress she really 
felt, she began to assume a haughty and reserved manner 
towards him, which he naturally interpreted into an evidence 
of anger and contempt. The dinner was placed upon the 
table, but De Chaulieu’s appetite, of which he had lately boast- 
ed, was quite gone, nor was his wife better able to eat. The 
young sister alone did justice to the repast ; but although^he 
bridegroom could not eat, he could swallow champagne in such 
copious draughts, that ere long the terror and remorse that the 
appantion of Jacques Rollet had awakened in his breast were 


364 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE 


<irowned in intoxication. Amazed and indignant, poor Natalie 
sat silently observing this elect of her heart, till overcome 
with disappointment and grief, she quitted the room with her 
sister, and retired to another apartment, where she gave free 
vent to her feelings in tears. 

After passing a couple of hours in confidences and lamen- 
tations, they recollected that the hours of liberty granted, as 
an especial favor, to Mademoiselle Hortense, had expired ; but 
ashamed to exhibit her husband in his present condition to the 
eyes of strangers, Nat^ie prepared to re-conduct her to the 
Maison Royale herself. Looking into the dining-room as they 
passed, .they saw De Chaulieu lying on a sofa fast asleep, in 
which state he continued when his wife returned. At length, 
however, the driver of their carriage begged to know if Mon- 
sieur and Madame were ready to return to Paris, and it be- 
came necessary to arouse him. The transitory eftects of the 
champagne had now subsided ; but when De Chaulieu recol- 
lected what had happened, nothing could exceed his shame 
and mortification. So engrossing indeed were these sensations 
that they quite overpowered his previous one, and, in his 
present vexation, he, for the moment, forgot liis fears. He 
knelt at his wife’s feet, begged her pardon a tliousand times, 
swore that he adored her, and declared tliat the illness and 
the effect of the wine had been purely the consequences of 
fasting and over-work. It was not the easiest thing in the 
world to re-assure a woman whose pride, affection, and taste, 
had l)een so severely wmunded ; but Natalie tried to believe, 
or to appear to do so, and a sort of reconciliation ensued, not 
quite sincere on the ])art of the wife, and very humbling on 
the part of the husband. Under these circumstances it wa.? 
impossible that he should recover his spirits or facility of 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE. 


365 


manner; liis gaiety was forced, liis tenderness constrained; 
his heart was heavy within him ; and ever and anon the source 
whence all this disappointment and wo had sprung would 
recur to his perplexed and tortured mind. 

Thus mutually pained and distrustful, they returned to 
Paris, which they reached about nine o’clock. In spite of her 
depression, Natalie, who had not seen her new apartments, 
felt some curiosity about them, whilst De Chaulieu anticipated 
a triumph in exhibiting the elegant home he had prepared for 
her. With some alacrity, therefore, they stepped out of the 
carriage, the gates of the Hotel were thrown open, the con- 
cierge rang the bell which announced to the servants that their 
master and mistress had arrived, and whilst these domestics 
appeared above, holding lights over the balustrades, Natalie, 
followed by her husband, ascended the stairs. But wlien they 
reached the landing-place of the first flight, they saw the figure 
of a man standing in a corner as if to make way for them ; 
the flash from above fell upon his face, and again Antoine de 
Chaulieu recognized the features of Jacques Rollet! 

From the circumstance of his wife’s preceding him, the 
figure was not observed by De Chaulieu till he was lifting his 
foot to place it on tlie top stair : the sudden shock caused him 
to miss the step, and, without uttering a sound, he fell back, 
and never stopped till he reached the stones at the bottom. 
Tlie screames of Natalie brought the concierge from below 
and the maids from above, and an attempt was made to raise 
the unfortunate man from the ground ; but with cries of an- 
guish he besought them to desist. 

“ Let me,” he said, “ die here ! What a fearful vengeance 
is thine! O, Natalie, Natalie!” he exclaimed to his wife, 
who w.as kneeling beside him, “ to win fame, and fortune, and 


366 


THE YOUNG ADVOCATE. 


yourself, I committed a dreadful crime ! With lying words I 
argued away the life of a fellow-creature, whom, whilst I 
uttered them, I half believed to be innocent ; and now, when 
I have attained all I desired, and reached the summit of my 
hopes, the Almighty has sent him back upon the earth to blast 
me w'ith the sight. Three times this day — three times this 
day ! Again ! again ! ” — and as he spoke, his wild and dilated 
eyes fixed themselves on one of the individuals that surround- 
ed him. 

“ He is delirious,” said they. 

“ No,” said the stranger ! “ What he says is true enough, 

— at least in part;” and bending over the expiring man, he 
added, ‘‘‘May Heaven forgive you, Antoine de Chaulieu! I 
was not executed ; one who well knew my innocence saved 
my life. I may name him, for he is beyond the reach of the 
law now, — it was Claperon, the jailor, who loved Claudine, 
md had himself killed Alphonse de Bellefonds from jealousy. 
A.n unfortunate wretch had been several years in the jail for 
a murder committed during the frenzy of a fit of insanity. 
Long confinement had reduced him to idiocy. To save my 
life Claperon substituted the senseless being for me, on the 
scaffold ; he was executed in my stead. He has quitted the 
country, and I have been a vagabond on the face of the earth 
ever since that tifne. At length I obtained, through the assist- 
ance of my sister, the situation of concierge in the Hotel Mar- 
bceuf, in the Rue Grange-Bateliere. I entered on my new 
place yesterday evening, and was desired to awaken the gen- 
tleman on the third floor at seven o’clock. When I entered 
the room to do so, you were asleep, but before I had time to 
speak you awoke, and I recognized your features in the glass 
Knowing that I could not vindicate my innocence if you chose 


THK YOUNG ADVOCATE. 0tj7 

to seize me, I fled, and seeing an omnibus starting for St. Denis, 
I got on it with a vague idea of getting on to Calais, and 
crossing the Channel to England. But having only a franc 
or two in my pocket, or indeed in the world, I did not know 
how to procure the means of going forward ; and whilst I was 
lounging about the place, forming first one plan and then 
another, I saw you in the church, and concluding you were in 
pursuit of me, I thought the best way of eluding your vigi- 
lance was to make my way back to Paris as fast as I could ; 
so I set off instantly, and walked all the way ; but having no 
money to pay my night’s lodging, I came here to borrow a 
couple of livres of my sister Claudine, who lives in the fifth 
story.” 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” exclaimed the dying man ; “ that sin is 
off my soul ! Natalie, dear wife, farewell ! Forgive, forgive 
all!” 

These were the last words he uttered ; the priest, who had 
been summoned in haste, held up the cross before his failing 
sight ; a few strong convulsions shook the poor bruised and 
mangled frame ; and then all was still. 

And thus ended the Young Advocate’s Wedding Day. 

24 



A MURDER IN THE TIME OF THE 
CRUSADES. 


There is, perhaps, no country or climate more beautiful 
than England, as seen in one of its rural landscapes, when the 
sun has just risen upon a cloudless summer’s dawn. The very 
feeling that the delightful freshness of the moment will not be 
entirely destroyed during the whole day, renders the prospect 
more agreeable than the anticipated fiery advance of the sun 
in southern or tropical lands. Exhilaration and gladness are 
the marked characteristics of an English summer morning. 
So it ever is, and so it was hundreds of years ago, when 
occurrd the events we are about to narrate. How lovely 
then, on such a morning as we allude to, looked that rich vale 
in tho centre of Gloucestershire, through which the lordly 
Severn fiows ! The singing of the birds, the refiective splen- 
dor of the silvery waters, the glittering of the dew as it 
dazzled and disappeared — all combined to charm sound, sight, 
and sense, and to produce a strong feeling of joy. But the 
horseman, who was passing through this graceful scene, 
scarcely needed the aid of any external object to enhance the 
pleasurable sensation that already filled his breast. The 
stately horse on which he sat, seemed, by its light steps, and 
by ever and anon proudly prancing, to share in the animation 
of its rider. So, the noble stag-hound that followed, and 


A crusadbr’s murder. 


369 


continually looked up contentedly at its master, appeared, 
likewise, a participator in the general content. The -stranger 
had indeed cause to rejoice, for he was upon the fairest errand. 
He had wooed and won the gentle heiress of a proud, but 
good-hearted Gloucestershire baron — he had wooed and won 
her, too, with the full consent of father, kinsmen, and friends, 
and he was now on his way to the baron’s castle to arrange 
with his betrothed the ceremonial of the nuptials. Eide on, 
thou gallant knight, ride on, and swifter too ; for though the 
day will be yet early when thou arrivest, thou wilt find thy- 
self expected within^ the Gothic enciente of the Baron de 
Botetourt’s dwelling. A banner waves from the topmost 
tower to do thee honor and welcome; there walks, too, by 
the battlements, one whose night has been sleepless because 
of thee, whose thoughts and whose whole existence centre in 
thee, whose look firmly attaches to the road that brings thee 
to her. Ride on then speedily. Sir Knight, to the happiness 
thy virtue and thy deeds have so well deserved. 

This lover is no ordinary suitor : he is of mingled Saxon 
and Norman noble blood, the recent companion-in-arms of 
Richard Coeur de Lion. His name is Ralph de Sudley, and 
though he has passed his thirtieth year, the effect of long toil 
and war scarcely appears upon his handsome and still very 
youthful countenance. Yet the knight has seen and endured 
much : he has been with Richard at the siege and capture of 
Acre, and at the battle of Azotus. When Conrad of Mont- 
ferrat fell by the dagger of the assassins. Sir Ralph took a 
prominent part in the stormy debates which ensued among the 
Crusaders. He even proposed with his men-at-arms, and those 
who would follow him, to invade the territory of the Loixi of 
the Mountain, and to avenge in his blood the death which 


370 


A crusader’s murder. 


that king of murderers had caused to be done to Conrad. 
This event made so deep an impression on his mind, that he 
still took every opportunity of urging upon his own and other 
Christian governments the necessity of extirpating these 
eastern assassins. On his return from the crusades, Sir 
Ralph found the daughter of his friend, the Baron de Bote- 
tourt, just verging into beauteous womanhood. The glory of 
his reputaiion, and the graces of his person, gained her heart 
at once ; the Lady Allinore, though much his junior in years, 
loved the kniglit fondly and devotedly. 

Sir Ralph has reached the portcullis of the castle ; the 
wardour and men-at-arms are there to receive him with full 
honors, though he comes privately, without his armor or his 
followers : he wears the civil but costly dress of the period, 
with no other weapon than a slight sword at his side. But 
the baron will have each advent of his future son-in-law wel- 
comed as an approach of state. 

“ Grammercy, Sir Baron,” observed the knight, as after 
passing through a crowd of domestics, he grasped his host’s 
hand upou the threshold, “ one would imagine me Richard 
of England himself, or rather Saladin, that greatest and most 
gaudy of Oriental Soldans, to see this pompous prelude to 
my disjune with your lovely daughter and yourself.” 

“ Nay, Ralph de Sudley,” replied the baron, “ my castle 
must needs put on its best looks, when it beholds the entry of 
one who is to be its lord and protector when I shall be no 
more. But I see you are all impatience to go within ; and, 
in truth, the sooner your first interview be over the better, 
for the table is prepared, and the pasty awaits us, and the 
chaplain too, whose inward man, after the morning’s Mass, 
craves some solid refreshment,” 


A CtltJSAbER*S MURDER. 


3^1 


A inoiiK^nt, my worthiest of friends, and I arn with you,” 
jaid tlie knight, as he hurried by : in another instant the Lady 
Alianore was in his embrace. Need we repeat the oft-told 
tale of love ? Need we describe the day of delight Sir Ralph 
passed in the castle, lingering from hour to hour until the 
dusk ? O, there is some one we must depict, thd lady her- 
self, who so subdued and softned this knightly soul. There, 
one hand upon the shoulder of her lover, her other hand locked 
in his, she sits listening to his words, and luxuriating in his 
discourse. The Lady Alianore, somewhat tall in stature, but 
perfect in form, has a face of dazzling beauty, yet the bewitch- 
ing sweetness of her smile is tempered by a certain dignity of 
countenance, to which her dark, raven hair, and darker eyes, 
do not a little contribute ; her hands, and the foot that peeps 
from beneath her graceful robe, are of exquisite smallness, and 
bespeak the purest Norman blood. Her extreme fairness, 
shaded by her sable locks, form a strong contrast to the au- 
burn hair and ruddy visage of the stalwart warrior beside her. 

“ This will indeed be too much, Ralph,” observed the lady ; 
“ a monarch, his queen, and his court, to come to this out- 
of-the-way castle, to honor the wedding of a lone damsel 
like myself; I can hardly support the idea of so much 
splendor.” 

“ Fear not, my beloved,” replied the knight, “ Richard is 
homely enough, and all good nature. Moreover, it is but a 
return of civility; for I it was who accompanied him to the 
altar, where he obtained the hand of Berengaria of Navarre ; 
the office was a dangerous one then, since I incurred by it the 
wrath of Philip of France. And why, dearest, should not 
every magnificence attend our nuptials ? It is the outward 
emblem of our great vcontent — a mark, like those gorgeous 


372 


A crusader’s murder. 


ceremonies that accompany the festive prayers of the Church, 
which tell the people of the earth of a joy having something 
of the gladness and glory of Heaven in it.” 

“ Be it as you wish, my own true knight ; yet t almost feel 
that I am too happy. May God bless and protect us ! ” 

Thus passed this bright day, until the approach of dusk 
imperatively compelled the enraptured lovers to separate. 
The knight had urgent business to settle, early on the morrow, 
»t his own castle, before setting out for London, to announce 
to the king the day fixed for the espousal, and to beg from 
the monarch the fulfilment of the promise he had made, to be 
present in person with his court, at the wedding of his gallant 
and faithful vassal. The knight was therefore forced to depart 
ere the gloom advanced; for though his journey lay in a 
friendly and peaceful country, it was not the habit in those 
days to be abroad much after dusk, without an efficient 
escort. 

Sir Ralph reluctantly quitted his betrothed : he made his 
escape moreover from the baron and the chaplain, who prayed 
his further tarrying, to share in another flagon of Rhenish 
about to be produced. The horse and dog were at the porch, 
and, in a few minutes, the knight had passed the drawbridge, 
and was in the same fair road again. 

“ I have known Sir Ralph from his birth,” observed the 
baron to the chaplain, “ and I love him as my own son. The 
king may well come here to see him wedded ; for he has not 
a nobler, braver, or more generous knight within his realm.” 

“ Truly, Sir Baron, he is endowed with much excellence,” 
replied the priest ; “ I do greatly admire his strong denunci.a- 
tion against the Templars and other warlike orders, who tole- 
rate the protracted existence of that band of murderers in 


A crusader’s murder. 


373 


the 'V3t who have their daggers ever pointed against the sons 
of t 3 Church. Sir Ralph speaks on this subject like a true 
sold’ of the Cross.” 

“ ^ 3ry true,” retorted the baron, “ yet I wish our cheva- 
liers would cease to think of foreign broils and questions, and 
attei i to affairs at home. This Rhenish is perfect : after all, 
wine is the only thing really good that originates beyond our 
seas. ’ 

T sir discourse had scarcely proceeded farther, when it was 
sudd :nly interrupted by the loud howling and barking of a 
dog. The baron and the chaplain started up. “It is Leo, 
Sir Ralph’s dog,” exclaimed the former, “what in God’s 
name can be the matter ? and the two rushed out. 

The Lady AUanore, at her orisons above, heard the same 
terrible howl and bark. She instantly descended to the courb 
yai’d ; as she came there, the outer gate was opened, and Leo, 
the knight’s dog, flew past the wardour, and ran to the feet of 
the lady. The animal’s mouth was blood-stained, and his 
glaring eye-balls and ruffled crest showed the extent of his 
fury and despair. 

“ Something dreadful has happened to Sir Ralph,” she cried, 
and urged by the dog, who had seized her robe, she hurried 
through the gate, and crossed the drawbridge, with a rapidity 
those who followed could not arrest. 

When the baron, his chaplain, and his domestics had pro- 
ceeded a little beyond a quarter of a mile upon the road, a 
fearful sight met their view. 

The knight lay dead upon the green sward by the side of 
the highway ; a poignard which had effected the mortal wound, 
still rested fixed into his back. His body was locked fast in 
the embrace of the Lady Alianore, who lay senseless upon 


374 


A crusader’s murder. 


it : tlie dog stood by, howling piteously. No trace could be 
discovered of who had done the deed. No proof was there 
beyond the dagger itself, which was of Oriental fashion, and 
bore the inscription in Latin Hoc propter verba tua : naught 
beyond that and another circumstance, which went to show 
that the* knight had been slain by an eastern enemy. The 
dog, as he re-entered the castle, called attention to some pieces 
of blood-stained rag, which, from their appearance, had drop- 
ped from his mouth ; one of these, the innermost, was in text- 
ure and pattern evidently part of a Syrian garment. 

The Lady Alianore did not die under this dreadful calam- 
ity : she lived to mourn. The knight was interred within the 
precinct of the Abbey Church of Gloucester; his tomb and 
effigy were in a niche at an angle of the cloisters. Here 
would Alianore continually come, accompanied by Leo, who, 
since his master’s death, never left her side ; here would she 
stop, fixedly gazing upon the monument, the tear in her eye, 
and the chill of hopeless sorrow in her heart. There are, 
indeed, few of us, who, wandering through the interior of some 
noble ecclesiastical edifice, can suppress a feeling of melancholy, 
when we view the sepulchre of a knight of repute, who has 
died in his prime, in the midst of his achievements and his 
fame, and who, clad in the harness of his pride, lies outstretched 
in the marble before us. Courage and courtesy, chivalry 
and Christianity, are buried there — there the breast, replete 
with honor, the heart to feel, and the right arm to defend. 
The monument tells of the sudden extinguishment of some 
bright light that shone in a semi-barbarous age, which had its 
main civilization and refinement from knights and churchmen 
solely. If this sight would sadden a stranger soul, what must 
have been the deep grief of the lady as she contemplated the 


A crusader’s murder. 


876 


cold memorial of Sir Ralph, and felt that the consummation 
of her whole earthly comfort was there entombed ! A secret 
sentiment that satisfied, or rather softened her mental agony, 
brought her again and again to the place — ay, again and 
again to gaze upon the grave, and then to retire into the 
church to long and ardent prayer. 

About two years after the knight had been dead, the Lady 
Alianore was one morning departing through the cloisters 
from a visit to the tomb, when her attention was suddenly 
arrested by a low growl from the dog who accompanied her. 
She turned back, and saw two persons in the garb of foreign 
merchants or traders, the one pointing out to the other the 
knight’s monumental effigy. Scarcely had she made the ob- 
servation, when Leo rushed from her side, and flew at the 
throat of him who was exhibiting the grave ; in an instant he 
brought him to the ground ; the other endeavored to escape, 
but some sacristans who heard the noise, hastened to the spot, 
and the men were arrested. 

On examination, the two pretended merchants were found 
to wear eastern habilaments beneath their long gowns, and 
the cloth of the turban was concealed under the broad 
brimmed hat of each. They both had daggers, and upon the 
arm of the one the dog had seized, there was the deep scar of 
what seemed to be a desperate bite. Further proof became 
needless, for when every chance of escape was gone, they 
made a full confession, and appeared to glory in it. They 
were emissaries from the Old Man of the Mountain. The 
one on a previous occasion had journeyed from the far east 
to do his fearful master’s bidding, and had stabbed the knight 
in the back, on the evening he rode in his gladness from the 
abode of his affianced bride. The fanatic himself narrowly 


376 


A CRUSADER S MURDER. 


escaped destruction at the time ; for the dog had fixed his 
teeth into his arm, and it was only by allowing the flesh to be 
torn out, (his dagger was in his victim,) that he contrived to 
reach a swift Arabian horse, which bore him from the scene. 
He had since returned to Phcenicia, and had once more come 
to England, bringing with him a comrade to remove a doubt 
expressed by his master, and to testify to the monarch of the 
Mountain how effectively his object had been accomplished. 

The Baron de Botetourt, with the assent of the crown, 
caused the two miscreants to be hanged upon a gibbet on the 
summit of his castle, their turbans tied to their heels. Leo, 
as if he had nothing more to live for, soon after pined and 
died. The Lady Alianore, retired into a convent, and event- 
ually became its abbess. During the course of her monastic 
life, she preserved in silence her undying regret for the knight, 
and the recollection of her happiness, so miserably thwarted. 
She was always kind and gentle, yet always also dignified and 
reserved. On her death-bed, she requested that her remains 
might be interred in the Abbey of Gloucester, nigh unto the 
tomb of Sir Ralph de Sudley, and that her monumental tablet 
should contain no more than her name and state, and an 
inscription pointing out the extreme vanity of all human felic- 
ity. Such a memorial, it is said, was, until entirely effaced by 
time, to be seen, read, and thought upon, within the cloisters 
of Gloucester’s time-honored and sanctified cathedral. 





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